Unpredictable Measures
by BreakingSerenity
Summary: There’s someone in the crowd who’s not who they seem to be as the youngest Winchester finds himself in a very tough situation. SFTCOLARS Bunny Prompt.
1. Chapter 1

**Title****: Unpredictable Measures.**

**Summary****: There's someone in the crowd who's not who they seem to be as the youngest Winchester finds himself in a very tough situation. **

**Disclaimer: Sadly, don't own anything.**

**Warning: Un-beta'd. All mistakes are mine. **

**SFTCOL(AR)S Prompt for Jenilee. **

**Author's Note: **First, I'd like to thank Jen for such a lovely, fun bunny. I hope she enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I don't know if this is anything close to what you had planned! For obvious reasons, I won't tell anyone what the prompt is so I hope you enjoy the fic. Again, extra thanks to Devan and Jess for being there for me when I whine about writer's blocks. Thanks a million!

**Nine Years Ago.**

It was just a family of three. A normal, happy family living in a beautiful small cottage. Soft, white snow piled on rooftops, an ocean of pure white cast over the streets as faded footprints threatened to disappear forever. Christmas Day, arriving in just a mere five days was welcomed with decorations that sparkled and hung from trees, flashing lights danced around the perimeter of the house.

It was dark, almost 9pm but the streets seemed lively with all the Christmas lights. The snow glistened beautifully as it reflected an array of orange, red, green, yellow and a whole range of other different colored bulbs.

Inside the small cottage, the fireplace was crackling as the warmth spread through the whole house. A lady was sitting awkwardly on the couch with her seven year old son on her lap. Her stomach was bulging out quite effectively, obvious to all who laid eyes on her that she was pregnant with a second child.

"Mommy? When's Daddy gonna be home?" He asked, innocent eyes gazing up at his mother. She gently stroked his cheek, her movements slow and careful, the other hand always resting above her stomach.

"I told you sweetie. Daddy's working nightshift these days. He won't be home for another few hours. Now just a few more minutes in front of the fireplace and you're heading to bed. You're way past your bed time."

The boy nodded and snuggled in closer to his mother. His eyes wandered over to the window, the light condensation made the outside view a tad bit blurry. Looking outside, he was captured by the beautiful motion of the falling snow, twinkling in mid-air before landing with a soft splat. Almost trance-like, his eyelids began drooping, his chin dropping to his chest as he succumbed to sleep.

An ear-piercing scream.

All of a sudden, his eyes snapped open and his head twisted to the side. His mother was nowhere to be seen, and it had been her shrill scream that woke him up. Frantically, he crawled off the couch, the fire that had been alive and flickering had now disappeared. He felt a shiver down his spine, the air suddenly dropped and he felt cold.

"Mommy?!" He cried. He ran to the kitchen and his eyes widened. Tears suddenly sprang to his eyes and he was frozen, rooted to the spot. Someone…some_thing_ in the form of a man had his mom. It looked like human, it sounded human, but its teeth…

This has to be a dream, the boy thought. But it seemed too real!

The man was holding a knife, dragging its point down the mother's arm. She whimpered, her own eyes begging him to let her go, pleading him to not end her life so soon when a second baby was on its way. She was leading a family, and it would crumble without her.

The man smiled, his pointy teeth stained with blood, as he heavily breathed out against her face. She tried to back away, but it was impossible with her back pressed so firmly against the kitchen cabinet, the _man _in front of her edged up so closely, so _dangerously_ against her pregnant stomach.

They were both oblivious to the fact that the boy was wide-eyed, watching everything that was going on. He began pinching his arm, desperately hoping to wake up from his nightmare and find himself next to his sleeping mother, the fire dancing with joy and his dad coming home.

His skin was turning red, but he wasn't waking up. He tried to stop himself from shaking, tried to stop the tears that streaked down his face as he witnessed what happened next.

The man leant in and sniffed her hair, causing him to smile and show his gruesome bloody teeth again. But one closer look at those teeth, they weren't normal teeth. They were-

The man trailed down her arm and licked the blood that was slowly making tracks down to her fingers, and the mother whimpered even more. She tried to wriggle free, to call her cops or her husband and alert him, but her thoughts were cut short as the man clamped his teeth down on her arm.

She screamed and was soon silenced as the man pulled away from her arm and kissed her lips. Her scream was muffled and she tried to jerk away, the copper taste of her _own _blood filled her mouth.

She shook her head, pleading him no more, her breath coming out in short gasps.

"You're so delicious." He whispered licking his lips. "You're everything I ever wanted."

The mother's legs failed her and buckled, her knees shaking so intensely they could no longer hold her up. But she didn't fall. The man held her firm against the cabinet, his pressure too painful for her undefended stomach.

"No…" She whispered between tears.

"I'll be nice. I won't turn you, but I'll most certainly kill you. Shame he didn't want a pregnant vampire to join the clan. I would have loved working with you."

"V-Vampire?" Her voice shook as she spoke, confused and shock so evident shown in her eyes.

The man's lips curled into an evil smile, one that told her he wanted more and more as her last sob escaped her lips. The man raised his hand and she flinched, but all he did was caress her cheek, pushing the hair away and tilting her neck slightly to the left.

She was confused for a second, but all was too late. Her last scream died in her throat as the man attacked for the last time, his fangs clamped down onto her neck, sinking into the flesh and blood freely streamed down her body.

The boy had a hand clamped down to his mouth, not believing what he was seeing. He wanted to vomit, to throw his arms around his mother when he finally woke up. He watched as his mother's form drained free of blood, her eyes still wide and open as if not believing she had died.

The man stepped back, causing the woman to slide down and hit the floor limply. She crumbled in slow motion, along with her son's soul and suddenly there was a knock on the door. The man spun around, eyes first landing on the boy and then darting to the door.

The young boy gasped when he saw the stranger who killed his mother had sighted him, but then the door swung open and his dad stepped in. The foul odor assaulted him, while the fresh air entered at the same time making the boy easier to breathe.

The vampire's eyes widened, his orders were only to kill the mother and leave and so he did what he was told. He ran, diving outside the window as it smashed. Broken glass flew everywhere as he disappeared into the night, leaving his bloody victim on the floor of the kitchen.

"Alicia! Alicia!!"

The father ran towards her wife, but it was too late. She, along with her baby, was dead. He didn't see who did this, just heard the glass shatter and a shadowy figure that quickly camouflaged with the darkness run away.

The cops came soon after, and they asked the young boy what had happened. His hands were still shaking and he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. The story that came out of his mouth blew them away.

A man who sunk his teeth into a woman's neck?

Judging by the condition of the poor seven year old boy, the cops didn't believe him. They marked this under the killing of a wild animal. That would explain the bite marks.

Besides, there were many victims that died under wild animals these days.

Several days later, the son of the murdered mother would not talk and kept his gaze to the ground. He would not communicate with anyone, and all he would mutter was the word "vampire" under his breath.

It was driving his father crazy. His son was closing in on himself, crazy about some vampires and he couldn't do anything about it. He just hoped that his son would somehow come to his senses one day and return to the happy, innocent boy that he used to be.

Oh how wrong he was.

**NOW.**

Sam opened the door to a beautiful morning day. It was 7:30am and he was ready for school. Dean and John had already been up a long time ago, slowly sipping their coffees browsing through various articles.

The sky was blue and clear, as Sam inhaled the fresh morning air. The horizon was misted with a light fog, as Sam closed the door behind him just blocking out a muffled "Have a nice day" from Dean.

"Thanks!" He shouted back as he jogged down the stairs of his motel, his backpack bobbing up and down behind him.

Dean watched his little brother's figure disappear behind the door and he glanced at his dad. With a small smile, they both knew they were thinking the same thing.

"Soon, he's gonna be taller than both of us."

"No way. I'm the older one, I'll remain the tallest."

"Just you watch Dean. Just you watch."

It was true. Sam looked a few years older than just mere fifteen. He had an athlete body type; his shoulders were broad and stood out from the crowd, his long legs giving him the advantage in any race or hunt. He was becoming an adult quicker than anyone had thought.

**000**

"Hey Sam!" Someone called as he saw Sam jogging down the street towards him.

"Hey Dylan! You're early for once!" He laughed as he caught up with Dylan. Sam had made a new friend during his three days at his new school, and they were getting along very well. He pushed away the thought that he was going to leave this town, this school, his new best friend whenever his Dad decided to.

"C'mon let's get to school." He laughed as they talked about the things they both liked.

They arrived at the gates and headed in just when the bell rang. Dylan was also pretty new at this school, only started three weeks earlier so he was in the same position as Sam, trying to fit in and not look too lost in the hallways.

The two of them were busy talking while walking to their first class that Sam didn't see someone standing in front of him. He bumped into him, causing them both to stumble and Dylan's eyes widened as he tried to pull Sam back.

"How dare you, Winchester." He spoke and was quickly surrounded by two of his friends beside him. "I heard you were new here."

"Yeah, I am." Sam replied; his voice confident and wondering what was up with this guy.

"Yeah, I am." He mocked Sam and the three of them laughed. "Watch out, because you don't have permission to go knocking into everyone, especially me." He threatened and walked away, his two friends following closely behind him.

When they were out of sight, Dylan grabbed Sam by the arm and walked to somewhere private.

"What's happening?" Sam whispered. "Who were they?"

"Sam, I've been here a week or two longer than you have. They're the toughest bastards in Grade 10. You should see what they do to the other people! You're lucky they let you go today. The one that you bumped into, he's Alex. The other two, they're Ryan and Jason."

"They don't have the right to treat everyone like that. It's unfair and cruel. It was just an accident that I bumped into him. I was busy talking to you." Dylan felt a little bit guilty, and Sam quickly picked it up.

"Sorry. It's not your fault. I didn't mean it that way."

"Let's get to class. C'mon." Dylan suggested as they picked up their paces down the hallway. Shortly they arrived in front of the room and Mrs. Hawk hadn't arrived yet. They smiled to each other and walked to their seats.

Sam, who was trained expertly by their dad, started scanning the room, taking in as much detail as he could without arousing any suspicions. His eyes landed on three guys that sat in the back row. And they were staring back at him, a smug grin pasted on their faces.

Sam quickly looked away and sat down, silently signaling to Dylan that Alex, Ryan and Jason were in the same class as them.

Sam sighed and hoped they wouldn't cause any trouble, especially since the teacher seemed to be late.

**000**

"Anything?" John asked.

Dean's shoulders seemed to slump slightly, as he put his cup of empty coffee down. "Nope. Nothing. This town is…fricken clean."

"Either that, or we just have to dig harder. There's always something to hunt in every town, and I'm sure this place is no exception."

"You know, Sam seems to be doing well at school right now. He's made that new friend and they seem real close."

"Yeah I've realized. What's his name? It's like Daniel, or something."

"Yeah, Dylan. He's a nice kid. I've seen him around once or twice, and they walk to and from school with each other."

"I just hope Sammy doesn't get too close to him. You know how he's like once we move out of a town."

"I wonder if we'll even find anything to hunt in this town." Dean grumbled.

"Be patient. Something will come to us sooner or later."

There was a moment of silence before Dean stood up and sighed. "You think we could maybe stay in this town for a bit longer than the others?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"I'm just worried for Sam. It seems like he's adapting really well, Dylan's a good kid and I don't want to see him lose another friend."

"We're hunters Dean. We don't stay in one place. You learnt that fast when you were growing up. Sam seems to be picking it up slowly, but he'll learn."

"But this kid seems... special. He seems more different then any of the other friends Sam's made."

"Then if they're so close, the longer they are together, the harder it'll be for me to split them up. He'll want to stay longer and longer Dean, and soon we'll lose him."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, true. I can see it's really hard for him though. It just hurts to see, every time we move, he gets really upset over it."

"Raging hormones? Moody teenagers? I suppose it'll pass by time."

"I hope so. You know Sammy, Dad. He's unpredictable."

"Learnt from the best." John said with a smile. "C'mon, we really need to find a hunt. I'm missing the thrill and the adrenaline rush when I'm hunting."

They both shared a smile knowing what the other was thinking.

Like father, like son.

**000**

The shrill bell rang as it tore Sam away from his memories in class, making him jerk up straight in his seat. His classmates were already out the door, rushing to get home or meet up with their friends somewhere.

Sam packed up, grateful it was the last period and walked to the gate that Dylan always met him after school at. He dropped his backpack down containing his History and English books he'd have to complete for homework tonight with a _thud_ and glanced around.

The leaves rustled as a soft breeze wheezed past. Students poured out of the school building, followed by teachers, then silence.

Where was Dylan? He's never usually this late.

Sam glanced at his wristwatch. It had already been twenty minutes. Sure, Dylan was always slow and late, clumsy and forgetful, but he had always been reliable. If something was up, he would definitely message Sam through their cell phones.

Sam dug his cell out of his pocket and checked for any missed calls or texts waiting for him. His eyebrows knitted together. That was strange.

He scrolled down to 'Dylan' and pressed the call button, waiting for someone to pick up but a machine told him that Dylan's phone had been turned off.

Something was definitely up. Sam picked up his bag, swung it over his shoulders and jogged into the school building. Frantically, he looked around, into each classroom but found nothing.

"Whoa! Sam? What are you still doing here?"

Sam twirled around to face Mr. Shawn, his English teacher. "Dylan…I'm looking for Dylan." He panted. "Have you seen Dylan Krrost?"

"He was here today at school. Wasn't he sitting at the back row with you during third period?"

"Yeah we were! He's supposed to meet me at the front gates but-"

"Calm down Sam. I'm sure he's just caught up. Maybe he left already and thought you had gone earlier."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dylan wouldn't do that."

"I'm glad you two are such good friends though. You two seem to be adapting really well since you're both new."

Sam nodded quickly and said a quick goodbye, and he darted off leaving Mr. Shawn wondering why he was so frantic.

Sam had a nasty feeling about this, and when he had nasty feelings about something, they were usually correct. He flung himself into classrooms, left and right, when suddenly a movement caught the corner of his eye. He spun around, staring directly out the window into the hockey field.

His eyes widened, his heart pounding as he sprung from where he was rooted to the ground and burst out of the building. He raced to the hockey field and saw a huge circle of what appeared to be at least a quarter of the school.

He pushed past everyone, and finally came face to face with what he feared. Alex, Jason and Ryan were standing their ground, fists up in a defensive position as Dylan was on the other side.

Three against one. That wasn't fair! Sam thought. With one glance at Alex, Jason and Ryan, he knew they were imbeciles at fighting. They had muscle, but didn't know any techniques. Alex's right cheek was swollen, a big ugly purple bruise beginning to show. Ryan was limping, his right hand rubbing his left wrist. And Jason had a black eye and split lip.

Pretty good, Sam thought.

Dylan on the other hand, had cuts all over his face. He had one arm protectively wrapped around his chest, and his shoulders were hunched but his eyes held a defiant look. Sam, out of all people understood that look.

Before Sam could step in, they Jason advanced on Dylan. He swung his uninjured hand but Dylan ducked it easily, raising a foot and slamming it down on his knee. Jason cried out and went down, and that angered his two friends.

Dylan turned around and proceeded to slam his leg full force into his opponent, but Ryan's hands grasped it and Dylan immediately knew he was in danger. Before he could react, Alex had thrown a punch at his face, and Ryan twisted his leg around making him spin in the air before landing on the floor.

The two of them walked over to Dylan, with Jason groaning on the floor not far away. Sam dived in and with the element of surprise, he slammed his foot into Ryan's torso and did a roadhouse kick and hit Alex on the chin.

For the first time, Sam was glad their Dad had taught them effective fighting moves at an early age.

A rough voice bellowed as Sam spun his head around to see Mr. Shawn pushing through the circle of students.

"Sam Winchester? This is what you meant by looking for Dylan? Alex? Jason? Ryan? I am shocked at this behavior. Everyone, go home! Now! Or you will be joining these people tomorrow on a detention and they will be explaining this. It's already getting late and your parents would be worried sick!"

The crowd of kids began to dissipate as everyone walked off, discussing what just happened.

He walked over to Sam and quietly spoke to him. "What happened? I want the truth." There was something about Sam and it told him that he wouldn't lie, not in this situation. He was a trustworthy kid.

"I-I don't know. I told you, I went looking for Dylan, I saw a huge crowd of people and instantly I knew what had happened. I stepped in because I wanted to stop it, that's all. If I didn't, the outcome could have been worse."

Mr. Shawn nodded convincingly. "Might've." But they both knew the answer to that. "Besides," He added with a low whisper, "They deserved it anyway."

That was one thing Sam loved about his English teacher. He was so understanding.

"So, do I still have detention tomorrow?"

"It's only fair kid. I know what you did was right, but how would the others react if I only let you off the hook and not them?"

Sam nodded. Maybe he wasn't _that _understanding, but he still smiled a real smile at Mr. Shawn when he patted knowingly on Sam's shoulder.

Sam knelt down beside Dylan and helped him up. "Are you alright? How's your leg?"

"It's fine. I'm so lucky that bastard didn't pull anything. Thanks for stepping in. Those bitches are gonna pay."

"Hey, hey. Not now, Dylan. You need to heal first. C'mon. Besides, when did you learn to fight like that? You never told me."

Dylan softly chuckled. "Could say the same to you."

"Well, I learned martial arts when I was young. I quit several years ago." The lie rolled off Sam's tongue familiarly as he waited for his friend's reply. "You?"

Dylan shrugged and it was then that Sam grew a tiny bit curious. "Karate? Tae Kwon Doe? Fighting doesn't come normally."

Dylan shrugged again. He was avoiding the question. Why?

Sam, of all people, knew that some things should be kept and not shared so he remained quiet after a whispered apology. At that moment, Sam felt his cell vibrate in his pocket. Without looking at the Caller ID he flipped it open, knowing it would only be one person.

"Dean?"

"Sammy? Is everything alright? You should be home an hour ago. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'll be home in around 30minutes. I just got caught in the middle of something at school. I'll tell you all about it when I get home. Tell Dad not to stress. I'm perfectly fine."

"You better be bitch. Hurry and come home and fill me in on all the chicks gossip."

"It's not like that Dean." Sam laughed. "Tell you when I get home."

Sam closed his phone and wrapped an arm around Dylan's torso, helping him stand up. He instantly recoiled when Dylan hissed in pain.

"Cracked ribs?"

"Nah probably just bruised. Those suckers can't fight for shit if their lives depended on it." He laughed dryly.

"C'mon let's get you home. Your parents would be really worried about you."

"Parent." Dylan corrected.

Sam winced and bit his tongue. How could he have forgotten? Dylan's mother died in a car crash and he never got to know her.

"Besides, Dad won't really care. Well, he would, but he's not home. Comes home from work at 6pm." He continued as he finally stood up straight, grimacing as poked and prodded around his face.

"I thought you said he worked nightshift?" Sam didn't know what made him ask that question. He knew he was being rude and invading his friend's life.

Dylan shrugged. "Used to. Ever since mom died he thought it was dangerous leaving me alone at night.

"Sorry for asking."

"It's no problem at all. What's your family like? Who was that on the phone just then?"

Shit. Probably not the best topic to talk about Sam thought. "That was Dean, my brother."

"Older?" Dylan asked as they arrived at the school gates.

"Yeah. Is it really that obvious?" Sam chuckled. Dean, the infamous mother hen.

They arrived at Dylan's house as Sam watched his friend disappear behind his door with a gentle wave.

"Take care of yourself!" Sam tried to sound cheerful as he smiled and nodded once.

Dylan smiled back thinly and nodded tightly before closing the door and Sam was left to wonder what was so different about Dylan today as he walked home by himself.

**TBC.**

**Slow start, I know. Please let me know how you're enjoying this so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the reviews guys! I'm glad you're liking it so far! Now a few warnings for this chapter and onwards. Some blood here and there. Also known as torture. Enjoy!**

Dylan walked slowly to his bathroom, one hand held out running along the wall for support and when he reached the mirror, he took his shirt off and inspected the dark purple swirl on his left side.

He shook his head grimly as he pressed gently around the area, biting his lip as he did so. Next he turned the taps on and soaked a hand towel, wiping the blood from the cuts on his face.

"I'm gonna make those bitches pay." He mumbled as he stripped off his clothing and turned the shower on. The steam rose and twirled in the air like wisps of cloud causing misty bubbles on the glass shower door.

Dylan drew his index finger and pressed it onto the glass door, a round silhouette of his finger printed there. Slowly, he started moving it up and down as if he was drawing a picture- or writing something. When he was done, three words appeared.

LET IT DIE.

Dylan underlined it with his finger, making the glass squeak as he cried out, a low growl of rage in frustration and he punched the door. It shook and rattled, the hinges not holding firmly as it threatened to break under his forceful attack.

He spun around on the balls of his bare feet against the warm slippery tiles and twisted the hot water tap to as hot as it can manage, the boiling water spitting out of the showerhead as it landed on Dylan. He bit back a gasp as he squeezed his eyes shut and allowed his body to get used to the temperature of the water.

Pain was good. Pain meant that you were tolerant. And to survive in this world of darkness, you had to be tolerant.

**000**

"So, let me get this straight. These three weirdo guys started a fight with Dylan, you stepped in and beat the shit outta them?"

"Yeah, I still dunno why-"

"Sammy! That's great!" Dean slapped Sam on the back. "That's what I'm talkin' bout kiddo. How'd you manage to knock 'em out?"

"Dean, that's not the point."

Dean raised his eyebrows expecting an answer to the question he asked and Sam sighed.

"Kick to the chin and hit the other dude on the chest."

Dean's grin became wider as he chuckled joyfully. "That's _exactly _what I'm talkin' bout!"

"Dean! Listen to me! Dylan was acting so weird after the fight, besides, I don't even know where he learnt to fight like that! He's just… I thought I knew him when I first met him."

"Dude, your friend just got the shit beat out of him. What do you expect? Pouncing up and down singing the Star Wars theme song while he walks home with you?"

"Yeah you're right. Anyway, I gotta go and finish some homework due tomorr- Shit I've got a detention."

"Detention?"

"Yeah, we all have a detention for being involved in that fight."

"You're livin' up to your name little brother."

Sam walked past them and went into his room, but not before passing his Dad. John nodded, his own smile gracing his lips. "I'm proud of you son. Usually, you wouldn't get away with one of Dean's "beat your schoolmates" rule but this one's acceptable. You did well."

Sam smiled as his eyes twinkled and he went into the room he shared with Dean.

"Beat your schoolmates?" Dean started.

"Well, that seemed like your reputation at the time. Detentions every day, punch a kid a week."

Dean smiled and shook his head amusingly, and flopped down onto their couch, turning the TV on. "Let's get some rest for tonight. I've been looking at newspaper articles all morning!"

"Yeah we'll go get some dinner later on. See how Sammy's doing."

"He's doing fine. Caught up in his homework which isn't even gonna be handed in tomorrow. He's such a geek."

"He's like Mary." It was soft, John didn't even know why he threw that in there but at the sight of Dean raising his eyebrows, he knew he had heard him.

There was an awkward silence as Dean's attention went back to the TV, but he was tracing his father's movements from the corner of his eye. John rarely talked about Mary and sometimes, Dean wanted to know more.

**000**

Alex caught a bus home after the little run in with Sam and Dylan. He rubbed his chin where Sam had kicked him and he gasped. The little runt was so lucky he didn't break his jaw.

The bus arrived and paid the bus driver, his face stood out among everyone had there been people on the bus. It was only him. Tired and defeated, he slumped into the nearest seat and looked out the window.

"What happened?" The bus driver asked before he started the bus again.

"Nothing. Just some trouble at school. Start the bus already, I'm already late. Drive a bit faster too, if your head isn't so stuck up your ass."

The bus driver instantly recoiled. The behavior of this kid outstandingly unacceptable and he hoped he wouldn't cause any trouble. This was definitely a kid who would get into fights at school.

"Sorry mate." He said softly as he pressed his foot down on the pedal. The faster he drove this kid home, the better. It was like he had an aura of negativity around him, and every now and again he glanced at his rearview mirror.

No later than 10 minutes, he arrived in front of the Alex's house and he tried to avoid eye contact with him. The sooner he left the better. He had a bad feeling about this kid.

He closed the doors, sighing and wondering why he was so freaked out about this kid. Guess he'll never know, he thought as he turned around the corner with one last glance at his rearview mirror.

He saw a figure creeping up behind Alex as he opened the door to his house, and then the sight was blocked by a building as he fully rounded the corner. His heart was beating as he made a U-turn, driving pass Alex's house again just in time to see the front door closing.

He shook his head. Deprived from sleep definitely makes you see things, the kid probably went into his house and started watching TV already, he thought as he left his last trip of the day and headed home.

**000**

Alex hopped off the bus angrily, wanting nothing more than to get home and relax. He took his keys out from his pocket and with a rough jingle he shoved the right one in the hole, twisting and turning it. The lock finally popped open, and he was about to step foot into his house when he felt fists clench the material of his shirt and jerk him backwards.

Before he could twist around to see who his attacker was, an elbow was brought down on his head and he fell into the darkness, crumbling like a mighty brick wall.

His attacker was a man who smiled before hauling Alex up over his shoulders, yanked the keys out from the door and disappeared around the corner, fully aware of the bus that had made a U-turn.

Alex didn't know what really happened. Maybe someone was trying to break in his house. He wasn't really sure until he heard a groan. And then another. His eyelids were heavy, his head lolling on his shoulders as he blinked once or twice.

It wasn't until then that he realized he was the one groaning, his head hurting from whoever's elbow had collided with it. He tugged at his wrists, noticing that he was strapped on a metal table, the cold biting hard on his skin he felt his insides go numb.

His jeans and top had been stripped off and all that was on him were his boxers. His shoes and socks were gone.

A loud creak, and then a bang as if metal collided with stone echoed through the darkness. Alex raised his eyes to meet his kidnapper. Dead, un-emotional orbs stared at him, searching his soul and it was him who broke the connection first.

He whimpered, tugging weakly at the restraints holding him in place, like a pig about to be slaughtered, freedom just meters away. The man towering above him smiled one of no emotion while his eyes bore down at him burning his very core.

"No, please." Alex whispered, a slight quiver quipped in his voice. "Please, I'm so sorry. Why are you doing this?"

"Because you deserve it." The man's voice was deep, one that made Alex squirm and struggle-anything to get free from this stranger before him.

But he was no stranger.

"You see, Alex. You've done many bad things. And you, of all people, should be punished. Brutally. Mentally. And this, is gonna get ugly."

Alex clenched his fists, the soft sting of his fingernails digging his palm, unable to stop the tears welling in his eyes.

"You're so pathetic. I wonder what your school will think when they see you like this. Think you're so tough?" He kept his tone calm, like he knew what _exactly_ was going to happen. It was like he had planned this, right from the beginning, step by step.

It was then that Alex gasped softly and he knew that his impending death had been planned accurately. What he didn't know, was how this kind-looking person can suddenly turn to… _this_.

The man bent low and Alex caught a glimpse of his ugly fingernails that peeked over his fingertips, sweat, blood and dirt caked in the very corners. He dug his fingernail across Alex's bare abdomen, pressed hard and ran it the whole way down to his pelvis.

Alex grunted and jerked away as he felt his flesh tear off, blood slowly trailing down his side as the bastard above him pressed his finger deeper into his flesh. Quick as lightning, he drew his blade from its sheath and plunged it deep into his prisoner's thigh.

A blood curdling scream sounded, bouncing off the walls trying to reach out to somebody outside, but the four walls and the locked metal door prevented that.

"Stop it! What the hell are you doing to me?!" Alex drew in a lungful of breath and thrashed about on the table he was strapped to. He saw this happen many times in horror movies, read them many times in fiction books, even played it out during his drama classes, but the real thing was nothing he's ever experienced.

If Alex came out alive, and he had to retell his story, he wouldn't hesitate. He would choose his words wisely, become a different person and try to warn everyone how dangerous the outside world really is. What the darkness really meant.

The world is one of cold fear, draping over you like a blanket and clouding your senses, paralyzing your ability to breathe. It opens your eyes to the true meaning of the word danger, striking you to the very depths of your soul and you would be scarred for life.

To see teenage kids walking alone down the streets at midnight, thinking that the world was free of murdering deeds or that the police would take care of them, was a mistake. They didn't realize how close they are from stalking predators, or your average shopkeeper might actually be a serial killer looking intensely at you from the corner of your eye.

Alex roughly snapped back to reality as the blade was twisted out of his thigh. He felt the metal sliding past muscle and he thought it was over. That he was going to die. But who dies from a petty knife wound to a thigh?

Alex began shaking his head, no longer able to hide the tears flowing freely past his temples dripping onto the table.

"Not so tough now, Alex." It wasn't a question or a statement for him to be denied. Just merely spoken out loud to be again drowned by the painful scream that ripped from Alex's throat as his captor dug his finger into the wound on his thigh.

He twisted it, his fingernail scraping against his bone as Alex jerked off the table, his screams falling on deaf ears as the man continued. Alex remembered watching the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, laughing when the man hung limply on a meat hook with his feet brutally sliced off. It seemed funny at the time, thinking how the Special Effects Department did such a good job.

He surely wasn't laughing now. He was praying for his dear _life_ that this man before him had never studied the murders in Texas Chainsaw Massacre or the sequels of Saw. The pain suddenly stopped, his leg was burning with such ferocity he was certain that he was in hell, the flames licking away at his body.

He heard the sound of lips smacking against each other, and then, "You taste so good." And he nearly gagged. That bastard had just licked his blood. His blood! The man reached beside him, grasping a tube of what looked like powder.

Alex's first thoughts were drugs. He began shaking his head in denial. Drugs were all kinds of bad, especially when he didn't know what drug it was. But as the man drew closer, he suddenly realized that this was worse than drugs.

Before having a chance to reason with the man, he tapped the tube, powder tumbling out landing softly in his hand before smothering it over his wound on his thigh.

Salt!

He pressed down hard, the salt entering his system and Alex arched off the table, a scream so terrible it seemed to reflect the pain he was suffering, the fear he was living escaped from his throat.

Alex was suddenly wrenched from this moment and fell into another place. He found himself staring up at the black sky and not a star shone in the darkness. He had fallen into unconsciousness, looking around; he suddenly realized he was alone- like he always was. He looked around, his arms free of restraints holding him back like a wounded patient on the surgery table.

He called out, hoping that he was caught in a twisted nightmare, his body entangled in damp sheets but he knew it couldn't be possible. The pain was so real, and even now he still felt it, though it seemed like his body and his mind weren't connected as one.

**000**

Dylan closed the door behind him as he ascended the steps from his basement where he was working on his school project. The basement was all his when his father had decided to give it to him to work quietly three months ago. It was his privacy, a place where his homework would never be questioned with curiosity and a place where critics weren't allowed. He had to put his game face on; his father would be home soon! He could not allow him to see the ugly bruises on his face, the way he walked, dragging his injured leg behind him. If his father ever found out he picked a fight at school, he would lecture him and ground him.

He walked over to the mirror and decided to put a long-sleeved shirt on, rearranging his hair so it looked normal while it covered up the purple tinges threatening to bust his cover.

Sure enough, he heard the jingle of keys outside as the lock turned and his father stepped in, a smile spread over his lips but his eyes still remained dull and sad as if they had seen too much in his forty-two years of living.

"How was school?" He asked Dylan automatically. It was something he did everyday, his tone never changed, and sometimes Dylan wondered if he really knew what he was asking.

"Good, thanks. How was your day?" You couldn't call their relationship rocky, but you couldn't call it a close bond either. There was just something about these two that were different.

He nodded slowly, placing his keys and bag down by the door and settled in for the cough. "Alright, I guess. Same old stuff."

And that was it. That was all the conversation that ever goes on between the two, apart from the murmured 'Goodnight' or 'It's time to eat' later during the day. Knowing his father too well, he was set to watch TV until 7pm, cook some crap food for the two of them to eat, get drunk and the routine would start all over again the next day. Dylan headed back down towards his basement to finish what he had started earlier.

**000**

Alex felt the world tilt and the blackness swirl in on him once again as his senses slowly came back to him. The pain. The loneliness.

The fear.

He let out a long shaky breath as he opened his eyes to mere slits and he felt his body slightly jolt off the table in shock as he saw his kidnapper sitting mere inches away from him, arms crossed as he looked at him intently. His breath quickened as a shiver coursed through his whole body like electricity. He tried to break free from his restraints, curling his hands into fists and pulling as hard as he could but finally, his body slumped against the table dejectedly.

Alex stared hard at the ceiling as the man beside him laughed, a deep chuckle that seemed to burst from his throat and bounce off the walls, taunting him. He knew he was going to die soon, and the knife wound to his thigh proved that he was going to be killed slowly and carefully. He prayed with his whole heart that someone would burst through the doors with a gun to his captor's head and pull the trigger once, twice- a million times.

The sound of the wooden chair scraping hard across the concrete floor sounded like nails crawling down the chalkboard, a sound that hung heavily in the air and quickened his heartbeat. From the corner of his eye, Alex saw the man lean over and pick up a phial of water, with a cork that sat tight on the top.

It was then that Alex realized how thirsty he was. He wanted nothing more than the feel of the cool, tasteless liquid seeping down his throat and giving him the strength he needed. His captor drew forward, slowly rocking the neck of the phial between his thumb and index finger making the water slap against the glass gently. He was mocking him and Alex knew it. He tried to look away, but he found himself gazing longingly at the water, and it was then that he noticed the yellow tinge to the water.

It was contaminated! Why would this man give him such a small amount of contaminated water? Surely he had no intention of pouring something no less than 150mL down his throat, right? What was the point of that?

Alex began to grow nervous as the man approached him; the pendulum swing that the phial took was hypnotizing him as he watched the liquid sway gently from side to side. He needed that water! His throat felt sticky, parched and dry like sandpaper!

The man stilled the phial, using his other hand to twist the cork screw open and with a pop it came off. The odor that was released was foul- suffocating to say the least! Alex groaned, turning away but yet the man didn't seem to be bothered by it at all, even when the phial was held a good 20cm under his nose!

Alex's heartbeat skyrocketed, his mind raced as he reviewed his chemistry classes. The foul odor, it seemed familiar like he had experienced with it before… what was it? Definitely not water! Suddenly, he remembered, the memory slowly crept back to him, teasing his fate.

"_Silence!! I will not tolerate this! What you are about to handle is something serious and fatal. It may well be your last chemistry class!" Mr. Burnan's voice echoed._

_In an instance the whole class fell silent and all eyes were on Mr. Burnan. He held up a conical flask with his palm under the bottom for support. _

"_This is what we call Nitric acid. It's very rare to find, and very dangerous." He held the flask up higher for emphasis and continued. "Nitric acid can appear like a clear liquid, exactly like water, to a faint yellow."_

_A student raised her hand up and was allowed permission to speak immediately. "Sir, what happens if it comes in contact with you?"_

"_Good question. You do not ever want to come in contact with Nitric acid. Even the tiniest amount can cause a severe burn. Get it into your eyes and you're risking your sight. Taste it, and your insides would be burning up."_

_A faint gasp could be heard as Mr. Burnan continued. "When I unscrew the lid, Nitric acid gives out the most disgusting aroma ever. In just a second, you guys are going to receive a small amount of Nitric acid and pour some over different types of textures. Wear your goggles, science aprons, and safety gloves. Do NOT spill any over, and most importantly, do not spill some on yourself. I will be watching and if under any circumstances you do spill the acid, tell me immediately."_

_The same student raised her hand again and spoke. "What happens if we get some on ourselves?"_

"_We rush you to hospital and you'll get treated." _

_Mr. Burnan walked around and placed a comical flask on each table and then handed out a metal rod. "Don't unscrew the lid yet. Don't touch anything. Wait for my instructions." _

_He scanned the classroom, looking at everybody. "Alright, everyone's protective gear on? Get one person to slowly unscrew the cork, run it with water then place it down upside down on the table. Then, use the eyedropper and draw in a tiny amount of Nitric acid. Place it over your metal rod and drip some onto it. Observe what happens."_

_He gave the instructions and everyone started working at once, extremely cautious not to spill the acid. As soon as they unscrewed the lid, the whole class moaned. Some even bit back a cry of shock. The odor was terrible! Nothing they had ever imagined!_

"_Focus! Don't let the smell throw you off!" Mr. Burnan bellowed. As the Nitric acid dripped onto the metal rod, it bubbled and hissed like a snake ready to attack. With shock and surprise, everybody stepped back. _

"_Concentrate!! You can't afford to lose concentration!"_

_The hissing slowly died down, and what was left made everyone appalled. A small dent was left on the metal rod, a little crater that had been created with just one small drop of Nitric acid. _

"_Put the cork back on the lid before you do anything. Write down method and the results. I want to see this tomorrow!"_

_And that was the end of the chemistry class. _

Alex had witnessed with his own eyes what Nitric acid was capable of, and that foul smell creeping up his nostrils determined his fate.

His captor drew a deep breath, inhaling the smell and smiled at Alex's fear.

"You're crazy!" He shouted. "Let me go!! Why are you doing this to me?!"

"Because you deserve it." He repeated again, his tone calm and eerie. Without any warning, he lurched forward and tilted the phial of Nitric acid onto Alex's bare chest. Alex arched off the table; his eyes squeezed shut as a bone chilling scream tore through him. His chest was on fire- the chemical burning his skin like a fire that licked at his tortured body.

He tried to curl into a ball, to shield his body from any more damage but the metal restraints around his wrists and ankles for unforgiving. The bolts held tight, fastened like there was no way out of them…like they were cut and sized especially for _him._

He felt his breath catch in his throat as he heaved trying to pull oxygen in. Tears found their way past his eyes and dribbled down his temple making perfect circles as it landed on the table. Sweat beaded Alex's forehead, trickling down and mixed with his tears. His damp hair clung onto his head, his nostrils flared as he tried to overcome the unbearable pain.

An inhumane cry escaped his throat, one that turned into a helpless sob that was drowned by the chuckle that came from the man leaning down beside him. He felt an icy cold hand clamp down on his forehead, brushing his wet hair away from his eyes. Without needing to see, he felt the air being pushed away as his captor hovered mere inches above him, his thick, hot breath swept against his face.

His bottom chin slightly trembled, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to wrench free from his grip. It seemed to work as he felt his hand release its hold but then the next moment, he was squeezing his jaw with all his strength.

His first instinct reacted as he cried out in pain, but he realized it was a grave mistake. A mistake that was a matter of life and death as the man, as quick as lightning, poured the rest of the Nitric acid down and tilted his head back.

Alex felt the liquid enter his lips, the initial burn so violent he was blinded by it, felt like he was disconnected with his body. He held the acid in his mouth, not wanting his insides to feel the same wrath of the acid as Mr. Burnan once told the class. Already, he felt his gums hissing, burning as the chemicals swished around.

With a hand cupping Alex's mouth stopping him from spitting the acid out, the man discarded the phial and with his palm facing the ceiling, his five fingers directly beside each other, he brought the side of his hand, his pinky leading, fiercely down at Alex's throat.

It was such a sudden movement that Alex didn't have time to realize what was happening as he felt the hand chop at his throat with such force. It was a knee-jerk reaction that made him open his mouth to gasp for breath, but then clamped it shut as the Nitric acid slid down his throat, choking him.

He spluttered, wanting nothing more than to vomit it all back out, to break free from his restraints, shove his hand into his throat and make all the acid disappear. He was too young to die. That definitely sounded too clichéd but it was the truth. He was only fifteen years of age and here he was, dying and suffering by the hands of-

Another thwack to his throat made him jump as the rest of the acid rushed down his throat in one big gulp. The giant hand left his mouth as he twisted his head to the side, slow trickles of acid weaving their ways down his chin, leaving a raw pink trail behind. Alex forced himself to vomit it out, but he couldn't. He was already twisting painfully on the metal table as he felt his insides being ripped apart as the acid flowed past his organs, like a terrible disease slowly plaguing the entire world.

"Do you feel the pain?" He whispered in his ear and Alex didn't answer. He _couldn't_ answer.

"It's what I call revenge." He continued, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the person trembling in pain before him.

Alex had trouble breathing, he had trouble making out what the person before him was saying. He had never experienced such pain before! To say heartburn was painful, you didn't know true pain.

Alex writhed on the table, his wrists threatening to slide free from the metal cuffs, he tried to breathe, wondering when the pain was ever going to stop. Was it ever going to stop? Or was the acid going to burn and dissolve every organ in his body before he finally gave up on life?

He felt a slow trickle down his chin, and he thought it was the remaining acid but he tasted the familiar taste of copper. He wiped his chin on his shoulder and when he drew back, huge amounts of blood dribbled down his shoulder.

Shaking, he raised his eyes to meet his murderer. "E-end it…" He whispered. "P-pleas..se." He pleaded.

His captor laughed, an evil gleam shone in his eye as he stood up. "Alright then, because you asked so nicely." He picked up a blade, and examined it; the silver glimmered as he walked over to Alex.

"Do you know how your intestines look like, Alex?"

Wide-eyed, Alex realized his fate. His mind screamed no, but his body was too weak to protest, his heart thumping in the wall of fire that seemed to reach out to every tip of his body. He watched, paralyzed in shock as the knife came down on his left hip and was dragged all the way to his right. Blood poured out of the wound before he registered any pain; he was still fighting the urge to vomit as the pain from drinking the Nitric acid had not lessened one bit.

Then the pain hit him. If being burnt on the inside wasn't bad enough, he was being carved alive like a cow in a slaughter yard! Using his bare hands, the captor dug his hand in and grasped something, then pulled.

Alex's last scream tore from his throat, pleading anyone to hear it and rescue him but it was too late. The last sight he saw from the world of darkness was his own intestines being pulled out of his stomach, blood splattering down onto the metal table, then further dripping against the concrete floor with soft _splats_ like crimson red paint being thrown around by a toddler. Slowly, the blood left his body and he felt the indescribable pain finally leave him as his screams fell silent, his shoulders slumped and his back visibly relax as Alex left the world. His eyes remained wide opened, unfocused but wild as if they burned a question into the person that killed him.

Why?

Though he had asked that question numerous times, and all he received was a "Because you deserve it" he wasn't really sure. He desperately needed the truth, and he needed revenge. But all was too late. Life had slipped away from him like water through spread open fingers, the hourglass that was once filled with millions and millions grains of sand was empty.

Life was unfair, and all in all, you only have a few precious seconds to live it. There is a clock ticking somewhere that counts the minutes that go by.

No one should have to learn this the hard way.

**Please let me know how you guys thought since it's the only way I can improve. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews everyone. I'm glad you're enjoying this. **

Sam started his day like always as he looked at the horizon with a small smile while he walked to Dylan's house. His backpack wasn't very heavy, knowing that he was going to skip all the subjects after lunch today because of his detention. He had never been to detention before and was a bit nervous, but at least Dylan would be there with him. That gave him a bit of comfort.

He arrived at Dylan's house and looked at his watch. He was a good 5 minutes early and leaned against the fence as he waited. He wondered what would happen today. Would Alex, Ryan and Jason pick a fight with him?

His worries were cut short as the door opened. Dylan walked out and greeted his friend with a smile, the limp in his foot no longer evident. As if on cue, Sam noticed and asked. "Is your foot all better?"

"Yeah, it's actually fine now. Thanks for asking. I guess I just needed a good sleep."

"That's good. Remember, we have a detention today." Sam sighed.

"Oh yeah, that's right! I knew I was forgetting something!"

"How could you have forgotten?"

"First detention, obviously?" Dylan grinned at Sam.

"Whatever, bitch."

Dylan laughed as he punched Sam lightly on his arm.

"It's after lunch right?" Sam asked.

"What?"

"The detention. It's after lunch, right?"

"Sam! Quit worrying! It'll be fine! And yes, it's after lunch. All detentions are after lunch, don't ask why."

Sam smiled along with his friend as they reached the school grounds together. The bell rang, and everybody scurried to their right classes.

"Math, room 7 right?"

"Yep. Worst morning class ever. Besides, Ms. Grayham is always late."

Sam laughed. "I know! I'm surprised she hasn't gotten the sack yet!"

They both snickered as they walked down the hall. They looked questioningly at the crowd of students that had gathered beside the room.

"How come they're not going in?" Sam wondered out loud.

His question was answered as he tried the door himself and found that it was locked.

"That's a first." Dylan muttered.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later when everybody else was in class, Ms. Grayham stumbled around the corner with her keys in her hand, Math textbooks in the other.

"I'm sorry guys!" She panted. "It won't happen again!"

"That's what she always says." Dylan mumbled and was rewarded with a snicker from Sam.

"Is the door locked? I must have locked it yesterday! I'm terribly sorry guys!" She panted as she fumbled with her keys and turned it. As the door swung open, the handle knocked her text books over as she muttered a swear word under her breath and bent to gather them in her arms.

Sam and Dylan were standing behind her, and as she went down they were greeted with a strange smell that made their stomachs lurch, clamping a hand over their mouths they gasped for fresh air. Everyone else was too busy to notice, chatting to their friends and the wall was blocking their view. Obviously, the smell had not affected them yet.

Inside, only one fan was spinning slowly, almost hypotonic. Crimson smears were everywhere, almost like a surreal, grotesque artwork that came to life. Various marks of what could be made out as handprints with fading smudges looked as if a struggling, half alive person had been slung upon one's shoulders and brought them to this fate.

Instantly, Sam's stricken eyes traveled upwards as he blinked, unable to believe the scene before him. It was like a moment frozen in time, one that he wanted to slam the door shut and wipe the graphics from him; memories that lurked deep inside like cobwebs. He found it difficult to breathe, his panicked orbs glued on the figure before him.

Alex hung there, limp and ghostly pale. His arms hung down by his side, gently swinging back and forth as the fan rotated his body like it had a life of its own.

His eyes were open, stricken as if he had experienced something terrible. And with one look at his body, that was confirmed. There was a grotesque cut across his abdomen that told him there was once a live river of blood that flowed down freely. All there was left now was a patch of dry flaky red.

His bare chest had suffered a great deal, inhabiting a swirl of colors –mostly red with a tinge of pink and purple- like it was a huge sore. There were blisters on top of the red, bubbles that stood out and it made Sam shiver. Black was decorating its outside like he had been burnt, but he knew that was not the cause. It was something…stronger. Something that took affect immediately. He racked his brain, but couldn't come up with a suitable answer.

His right thigh looked infected, like he had been stabbed, then the knife was twisted out of him. And was that…powder? Sam's head was spinning. What had happened?

Sam was pinned to the floor, his feet frozen and suddenly the tips of his toes felt icy and numb. He had thought that school was a safe and secure place to be, after all that was the whole reason parents decided to leave their kids here besides the education. Sam wasn't so sure anymore. He felt uncomfortable, and he never really believed that such a small moment of reality could change your thoughts so strongly. Not after when he was six years old and learnt the truth about his family, anyway.

And then the sight that stole his breath away. Alex had been hung by his own flesh and blood, strangled to death as his own intestines were wrapped around his neck and strung up on the classroom ceiling fan.

He vaguely heard Dylan gasp beside him, then running out and vomited into the closest bin. He didn't register Ms. Grayham straightening up with all her textbooks as she screamed and ran out, her books once again scattered on the floor.

At the sound of Ms Grayham's fear-filled scream, the whole class rushed in, taking only mere seconds to register what was in the room, and ran out in shock. Taking one last look at the dead figure slowly rotating a clockwise direction, Sam walked away from the classroom. Who could have done this?

It was then that he remembered something that sparked in his memory. When he had given Dylan a hand to stand up on his own two feet without swaying dangerously after the fight yesterday afternoon, he had vowed he would take revenge.

"_Those bitches are gonna pay."…_

He couldn't possibly…?

Sam didn't want to jump to conclusions. He ran to his friend and stopped beside him, looking at him dead in the eye. He had learned how to read people from Dean, and he was definitely testing his own skills today.

"Do you know who did that?" He asked; his voice confident without a tremor. Dylan was hovering over the bin as he spat into it, wiping his chin with his sleeve.

"That was disgusting! Sam…did you…did you see?"

"Dylan, I need to find out who did it."

"I feel sick just thinking of it!" Sam saw that tears sprung from the corner of Dylan's eyes as he threw up into the bin once again.

Sam looked at his friend and softened. What was he thinking? Dylan definitely couldn't have done this. He was kind-hearted and gentle. Looking into his eyes, he only saw the truth there. But he had to make sure. Maybe he was being in over his head.

"Dylan. You didn't… you didn't…" He nodded at the direction of the classroom and his friend's eyes widened.

Dylan's eyes narrowed in realization. "What? Me? You think I killed Alex? How could I…How could I have turned into…_that?_!"

"I'm not saying you did Alex, but yesterday you vowed you'd make them pay."

"Are you turning against me? Are you saying I ripped that guy's stomach open and hung him?"

"You didn't, right?"

"When I said I wanted them to pay, I didn't mean it like _this!_ Sure, I admit, I was thinking of jumping him and throwing back a few punches when his buddies weren't around, but not this!!"

Sam saw it clear in his friend's eyes. Honesty. And it was confirmed as Sam let out a shaky breath. He had to find the murderer.

"I'm sorry Dylan. I guess I was just being in over my head."

Dylan held a defiant glare but then softened and softly smiled. "I understand. If I were in your shoes I guess I would have thought of the same thing either. I was being a bit of a bastard back there."

Sam smiled dryly. He desperately racked his brain for an answer. Surely not Ryan or Jason then?

School was let out after that so everyone went home early. No one was told why, and no one knew; only Sam's class.

**000**

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Ryan and Jason walk away from the school grounds, shoulders slumped, their heads hung low. Curiosity got the best of him and seeing as Dylan was still in the gents, he strolled over to them.

"Look, let's put yesterday behind us. I really am sorry for what happened."

Taking two strides, Jason had pressed Sam up against a brick wall. "Don't you go acting Mr. Fucking-Nice-Guy now. We're expelled from this school because of this week's events! It's your entire fault! Now Alex is dead! _Dead!_ For all I know, you could have murdered him. And until I die, I will tell everyone that you _did_!"

"No, look-"

"No, _you_ look!" Ryan spat. "You're lucky to be alive. I am so tempted to punch your head so hard until that wall behind you has a new coat of paint. Get out of my sight you bastard."

They roughly pushed past him and Sam was left to his thoughts. They were quickly forgotten as Dylan appeared next to him, wiping his wet hands on his jeans.

A seventeen year old girl bumped into Sam, his backpack crashing to the concrete ground. Her arms wrapped around her boyfriend. A distant conversation could be heard as she passed Sam and Dylan.

"So where to? Shopping mall? The movies? Oh, the beach?" She giggled, playing with her hair.

Sam and Dylan exchanged looks as Sam bent down to retrieve his backpack and the books that had fallen out. Exasperated, Sam straightened up and sighed.

"Guess everyone who's oblivious to the situation's off to the mall or wherever."

"Yeah."

"Do you think the school's gonna close down?" Sam asked suddenly."

"I hope not. Because then we might not be at the same school."

Sam glanced at him, his own voice echoing deep down. _Even if the school doesn't close down I wouldn't be at the same school next month!_

He decided to stay away from that subject, asking again, "No, but really." He brushed off with a fake chuckle. "Do you really think the school will close down?"

Dylan sighed. "Honestly, I hope not but we'll never know. It's a small town, probably one of the most popular schools around. I don't think they will."

Sam nodded, glad that his friend could reassure him but the more he thought about it, the more unsure about this whole situation he became.

"You know, Ryan and Jason are expelled." Sam started all of a sudden.

"What? Why? Do you think it has something to do with…?" There was an awkward silence.

Sensing Sam's uneasiness, Dylan changed the subject. "Wanna go somewhere?"

"The mall? No thanks."

"No, nothing like that. I've been longing to tell you something. Think you have time?"

Hesitating, Sam reluctantly nodded. Maybe this would help him calm his nerves and when he arrived home, Dean and John could help him sort it out.

Dylan smiled and pointed over towards the trees. "Look over there. If you squint, you can see something dark peeking above the trees."

Sam looked at his friend before giving it a try. Sure enough, he saw something sitting on top of the horizon. "What's that?"

Dylan's smile grew wider. "It's a haunted house." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you believe in that sorta stuff?"

Sam eyed Dylan before gazing back at the house. It was too far to tell if it was real. And even if it was, he truly doubted that it was really haunted by an angry spirit or a poltergeist or God knows what.

"Well?" Dylan asked, a hint of humor in his tone.

"Do you?"

"Yeah! Everyone who knows that it exists believes it. They say they hear whining on particular nights during midnight, where everything's still and quiet."

"So not everyone knows it exists?"

"Nope. Only people who's been in this town long enough."

"So how did you hear about it? I thought you just moved here?"

"Well… I have friends here and they told me. They told me to keep it a secret for some reason, but I guess it was okay to tell you. I swear though it's so freaky inside."

"You've been in it?"

"Yeah, once. Later that week someone was said to be murdered there so nobody dared to go in it again. Plus, no one even wants to. It's pretty stupid, but I do believe it's really haunted."

Sam slowly nodded. Well, he thought, this information might be useful for Dean and John. But then again, Dylan's just a normal person believing that some scary house might be haunted. He had no hardcore evidence.

"I swear we should go some time. It's total freak show in there!! It's so dark that you can't even see your own hand at times. There's blood on the walls as if a whole family got murdered there, it's creepy I tell ya!"

Sam smiled, though his heart wasn't truly in it. His mind kept flashing to what he saw in the classroom earlier that day, Alex hanging under the ceiling fan. Blood. So much blood. And what exactly was that on his chest? And around his mouth? They looked like trails… or what Sam wasn't sure but it looked as if he had been burnt -but not exactly. His mind twisted and groped for an answer hoping to find one, but nothing came to him.

"Sam!!"

Sam's head twisted around to see Dylan looking at him, his eyebrows knotted together in concern.

"Are you okay? You just zoned off on me!"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just…tired probably you know. A lot has happened between these two days."

"Yeah definitely. Alright how bout let's head home. We'll catch up another day or something. I could even take you to that haunted house one day!" Dylan grinned.

"Yeah, sounds great!" Sam tried to put some enthusiasm in his voice, and it seemed to work but honestly he really didn't feel up to it. He just wanted to burst through the doors of his motel and tell his family everything and leave it up to them. He had a sudden desire to be near Dean, his guardian and protector where he would never doubt his safety. He felt so vulnerable right now because of what happened to Alex.

It had stunned everybody that had seen his corpse; the vivid image of his legs floating around in mid air as his whole body weight was supported by the intestines around his neck had burned itself on the back on Sam's mind.

Sam let out a breath he had been holding when Dylan arrived at his house and like any other day he waved goodbye and disappeared behind his door. Something was odd. This wasn't any other day. How could he act so…normal? Hurriedly, his eyes darted left and right making sure he wasn't followed, and pulling his jacket around his body he sprinted to his motel, his backpack bouncing up and down his back matching the pounding of his footsteps.

Panting, he unlocked his motel door and threw himself in, slamming the door shut behind him. At the back of his mind, something told him he was acting childish and immature but he was taught to stay on his toes, and that coincidences were just merely clues to the actual murder.

And the fight that occurred yesterday with Alex, and now his death, was definitely one of these coincidences.

Sam sagged against the motel door and dropped his bag slowly, and realized two pairs of eyes were on him, studying him carefully. Dean was the first to speak, striding up to him and holding him by his shoulders.

"Sam what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Son, what happened?" With a quick glance to his watch, John realized something. "Shouldn't it be a little early for you to be home?"

Sam was catching his breath, wanting to tell his brother and dad everything…but where to start? "Something…Something happened at school today! It was so unexpected!! Who…Who could have done…?"

"Whoa! Slow down kiddo! Start from the beginning. You left for school today and then what?"

"No, before that. Remember I told you I got into a fight yesterday? And the kid Alex? He started it with Dylan first…"

It was well over 40minutes when Sam had finished his entire story with every single detail etched in his mind, even the bit with the haunted house Dylan had told him about. Dean and John were sitting beside him now on the table and asking questions that popped up in their mind. Sam seemed stricken, shocked by what had happened and neither of them could blame him.

Dean put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and patted gently a few times. "It's okay kiddo. It's tough that you had to experience that."

John shook his head. "That's unbelievable. That's school grounds! How could whoever did that manage to sneak past everything and put a body there?"

Sam sighed, relived. He was clearly angry at the situation, and not at him.

"And what's this about some house? You think that might have something to do with this?"

"It might be possible. Besides, we don't even know if he's telling the truth. You know kids these days."

"I don't think Dylan would be lying, but I don't think he knows so much about …our kind of thing you know?"

There was a moment of silence where no one moved, each pondering in deep thought.

"Do I go to school tomorrow?" Sam asked. "Will it even be open?"

John shook his head. "I don't know son." He chewed on his bottom lip. "We'll definitely research this more tomorrow. Is your friend Dylan going to school?"

"He probably is."

"Can I trust you to stick close to him?"

"Yes, sir. He's a nice kid."

"I know, I've heard. Alright then, go to school tomorrow because if you don't, the suspicion will most likely land on you. Stay on your toes, and call me or Dean if anything and I mean _anything_ happens. Got that?"

"Yes, sir.

**000 **

The sky was dark, countless stars sparkling in the sea of darkness above the houses. Not one tree rustled, not one bird squawked.

Sam sat cross-legged on his bed, his fingers curled through each other as he rested his chin on his bundled fist. Staring out into his window, he couldn't help but replay the events of the day. Suddenly, the door slipped shut with a whispering click and his bed dipped beside him.

"Hey Sammy. Are you alright?"

"I…I just can't help but think of what happened, you know. I was the first to see it, and…"

"…Something like that is never easily forgotten. Pasted onto the back of your eyes, burned there as if an iron had been pressed down for too long." Dean finished off for him.

Curious eyes turned to him and the night sky was forgotten. "How did you…?"

Dean shrugged and avoided Sam's eyes. "You can remember many things at the age of four."

At once, Sam's eyes fell. "Oh." He whispered. "Mom."

Dean nodded silently.

"Sorry."

"It's okay Sam. I understand how you feel."

"It was horrible Dean!!" He blurted out. "He was hung by his own intestines!! His _own intestines_!! And then there were these grotesque burns on his chest and mouth, it was like…" Sam visibly shivered and was grateful that Dean shuffled closer and snaked a loose arm around his shoulder.

"It was so disgusting…" He whispered over and over again. "What if it happens again tomorrow?"

Dean hesitated. "I don't think it will. I know it might not be a very good idea but…" He ran a hand over his face. "I just hope Dad's right. You'll be safe, don't worry." Dean gave a reassuring smile but Sam found it hard to mirror it.

"You'll be fine. Me and Dad will track this sonofabitch and slice its head off."

"Yeah, I hope." Sam sighed.

Sam had to admit he was slightly disappointed when his bed springs creaked and Dean walked over to his bed.

"Get some sleep Sammy."

"Dean…" He was about to hesitate, to ask his brother for something embarrassing but he raised his eyebrows in surprise as Dean bundled his pillow and blankets and dumped them on Sam's queen sized bed.

Dean smiled gently, a slight hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he saw the relief that flooded his brother's eyes, thankful that he had been the one that placed it there.

Soon, Sam's breathing had evened out and Dean could tell he wasn't pretending to be asleep. Cautiously turning his head so he faced the ceiling, Dean placed his hands behind his head, elbows faced out and took a deep breathe.

He tried to imagine a sixteen year old hanging there, his bare chest red and raw, blood coating his body like the finishing touch on a cake.

It was impossible. He merely couldn't, no matter how many horror movies he had watched and made fun of. He longed that he could wipe away the scene in Sam's tortured mind, making him forget what he had seen and just move on. It was something no teenager should ever witness, and Dean was left to wander if that Alex kid would come back as an angry spirit.

Could it be a demon? A Wendigo? Vampire? Dean revised everything he knew about Supernatural beings but nothing came up with a match. Surely no human could become such a monster, right?

Dean was brutally torn away from his thoughts as Sam jerked awake in his bed, leaping up as a strangled but soft cry escaped from his throat. Dean's head snapped to the side and he, too bolted up from his relaxed position, gripping Sam's shoulders firmly and saw the sweat trailing down his face.

Dean glanced at the door, wandering whether John was awoken but his worries about that faded as quickly as they had come and he focused on Sam. His little brother's chest was heaving, taking large amounts of air in. His eyes blinked rapidly, still trying to clear the image of what he had dreamt about, and Dean was pretty sure what he dreamt about.

"Dean." He whimpered and at the same time, John came barging in through the door, a pistol in his firm hands as he swung himself right, then left, his expertly trained eyes scanning the shadowed room. Finding that nothing had intruded, he tucked his gun away and sat on the foot of Sam's bed.

"Sammy, how are you feeling?"

Sam's quivering breaths made his frame tremble, his eyes hidden away by his long stringy fringe. He brought his hands and rubbed his eyes, and Dean imagined his baby brother trying to scratch at his eyes, clawing at the image that haunted him even in the bliss of sleep.

Gradually, his ragged breathing seemed to fade away, and all that was heard was his soft breathing as Dean and John exchanged worried glances to each other in the dark.

"Sammy, want to tell us what that was all about?" John urged softly.

Sam shrugged. "I think you guys already know." He rasped.

"We don't know unless you tell us, Sam." Dean whispered, edging in towards his little brother.

Sam slammed his hands flat against the mattress, tears shimmering in his eyes. "I dreamt that instead of Alex, it was me! It was me hanging there, but it was also me that burst into the classroom! I felt like I was suffocating… it was so hard! I just… couldn't breathe and it felt so real! I experienced the pain that he went through, and it was just all too much…"

In an instant, Sam was embraced by strong and powerful arms as John and Dean whispered a litany of comforting words. They needed to pull Sam out of this, but they both knew that it might not be as easy as it seemed. Sam had witnessed first hand what cold blooded murder was, and it wasn't so easy to forget such a thing.

After what seemed like eternity, Sam finally drifted off to sleep in a bundled heap as John pulled the covers up to his neck and look at him affectionately before smiling and nodding at Dean. He couldn't help but think how fast his oldest has grown and he looked much older than just mere nineteen. He exited, closing the door softly behind him and whispered a prayer to the angel who he believed that was Mary looking down upon his boys each day that Sam would be safe, free from the wrath of nightmares.

**TBC.**

**Thanks for reading! Please tell me how you liked this. **


	4. Chapter 4

**I appreciate the reviews guys. Thanks everyone. Also, side note regarding last chapter. Thanks to one brave anonymous reviewer, Carol, who pointed out that yes, the fan's movements were hypnotic and not hypotonic lol. It was one mistake that I skimmed over. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

Instantly, Sam knew that something was wrong. John and Dean were at the library searching for any deaths that might relate to Alex's, and now he was waiting outside Dylan's house for more than fifteen minutes. Digging his phone out from his pocket, he pressed the keypad 4, speed dialing his friend while a thought whispering in his mind that as soon as he was going to leave this town, speed dial number four was going to be blank, just like the many other times.

After calling for the fifth time, Sam was curious. Something was definitely going on. He picked up his school bag and rang the doorbell, once…twice…and waited. He slowed his breathing down and listened for any noises, any footsteps but there was none. Ringing the doorbell again, this time his finger jabbed at it, panic rising in his chest and the silence was deafening. Soon, the echo of the chime died down and Sam had made up his mind.

Dylan had never been this late for school, not without a call or text message, and certainly not replying when Sam rang the doorbell.

Crouching low, he crept around the corner of the house and spotted a window that ran nearly the length of floor-to-ceiling. He peered inside and swallowed back bile that had risen in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he froze, his feet sinking into the ground beneath him.

Dylan's beautiful baby blue carpet spread across the living room had been vandalized by splashes of scarlet that lead to the kitchen. Eyes widening, his breath quickened and he momentarily squeezed his eyes shut.

If he burst in there now, what would he see? Would he see his best friend dangling down from the ceiling lights with intestines strangling him? Or worse? Would he see the cold blooded murderer tearing his stomach open?

Sam had a strong urge to call his brother or father, but he knew they were busy in the library. Should he call them? At once, his decision was made. The more the thought about it, the more he wanted to find out about this killer. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as he skillfully unlocked the window with his switchblade and silently climbed in.

Cursing at his stupidity for not bringing a gun, he held the blade like a professional cop would and expertly stalked around the house, taking note of the blood splattered on the expensive carpet under his feet. He didn't miss the way his eyes crept towards the ceiling every time he went into a new room.

Stilling his breath, he heard the sound of something…almost sounded muffled. It was definitely coming from the kitchen. A wave of hope filled him as he twisted his body into the kitchen, eyes darting from left to right before finally landing on the huddled figure tied up, blindfolded and gagged in the corner.

"Dylan? Dylan!!" Sam sprinted over to his friend and cut off his bonds. "Dylan! Where's your dad? Where's your father?"

Shaking hands trembled as they untied his blindfold and gag. Relief flooded his eyes as his shoulders slumped at the sight of Sam.

"Where is your father?"

"I-I don't know…"

Sam scanned his friend's body for any injuries and found none. That could only mean the blood belonged to…

Behind the dining table he eyed a foot sticking out and instantly knew who's it was. He saw the puddle of blood pooling beneath it, snaking its way towards him and the sight alone made him dizzy and wanted to vomit. The memory of Alex's death was still too fresh and raw and he could not afford another.

Flipping his cell out, he decided it was definitely time to call his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah? What's wrong?" Dean's voice came on the other side.

"Dean, come to Dylan's house immediately! Something's wrong, please, just come!"

"Alright! Alright, uh, stay there okay?"

Sam heard the muffled murmuring as Dean and John exchanged words, and he nodded jerkily to himself as Dean confirmed he'd be there in five minutes or so. Flipping the phone shut, he turned to Dylan.

"What happened?"

"I have… I have no idea. I woke up and I found myself in the dark and my hands were tied behind my back. I couldn't yell out or anything! And then I heard…" Tears trickled down his cheeks as he blinked. "I heard my dad being murdered!! He was so close to me but yet…yet I couldn't do anything to save him!" He brokenly whispered the last of his words.

"I heard him beat by father, and then he screamed…and it was the last I ever heard from him." He sniffed, bowing his head low in humiliation and Sam looked at him feeling a familiarly helpless.

"I heard my own father die!" Dylan continued, pronouncing each word with more strength than usual. "I heard him scream and I was just there in the corner, doing _nothing_!!"

"You couldn't, Dylan. Don't blame yourself, please. This is not your fault. Don't blame yourself."

After he killed my dad, he just left though! Why didn't he kill me? Why didn't he take my life? Why couldn't he allow me to join my father?"

"Don't say that. Please don't. What's it gonna change if he took your life? You're the only witness! Look, my dad and brother's coming here soon to check this out. My dad, he's a…cop. Don't blame yourself Dylan."

Dissatisfied that he didn't receive a nod but the fact that Dylan shrank smaller, curling inwards frightened Sam. Something was up in this town. Swiveling his gaze, he eyed the muddy boot peeking out from the table and shivered. He could not bear to walk around and witness what had happened to Dylan's father.

Sure enough, with a loud crash the front door had been kicked down by Dean, and the two elderly Winchesters were expertly scanning the area, their eyes following their guns as they moved through the house silently.

Finding Sam and his friend huddled in the corner; Dean crouched down beside them and checked them both for injuries. Like Sam, he found none and noticed the figure lying behind the table. Taking a deep breathe, he slowly walked around, his boots softly clicking against the tiles in the kitchen. He rounded the last bend and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. His blood froze cold and he gripped his gun for cold comfort.

Dylan's father was hardly recognizable! He was lying on his back, his face towards the ceiling, his palms also turned upwards, but if it hadn't been the pile of moving black that swarmed his face, it would have been easier detecting that he was once a handsome man with a happy family.

Dean recognized the creatures at once. Scorpions. Dozens, maybe even fifty. Some on top of another. Scuttling all over Dylan's father, their skin-tingling legs gracing over his dead icy skin. Dean almost wanted to vomit at the sight of their poisonous pincers. A scorpion was hanging off his right ear, holding itself onto it by attaching its pincer onto his earlobe. Black creatures the size of your hand, crawling over you sentencing you to death by not one stab of their deathly pincers, but many.

His eyes scanned Dylan's father for any more injuries soon and he raised his eyes in surprise, finding that his right leg had been brutally severed off at his knee. A round stump indicating that his leg didn't exist anymore and what was left was just an ugly blood spotted thigh.

Dean's eyes were glued to the scene he didn't register his father creeping up next to him, also surveying the scene before them.

"That is one sick death." John commented softly and Dean jumped.

"I feel like I'm going to puke."

"I don't blame ya. Just looking at them makes my skin tingle. I wander how this guy felt before he died."

"Ugh. Please, don't."

"We need to get Sammy and Dylan out of here." John's and Dean's eyes locked for a brief second. _And we need to start questioning this kid._

"Dylan, is there a back door?"

Dylan nodded and stood up on shaky legs with Sam supporting him on one side as they frantically left the house. They knew that the neighbors would be complaining about the smell of blood and they couldn't afford to be found inside the building with the victim's son.

Sam glanced at his watch as they made it back to where the Winchesters had been staying. "It's too late to go to school now. Besides, they'll wonder what happened and if what happened appears on the news today, we'd be bombed with questions."

After making sure no one saw them, John closed the door and walked over to Sam, Dean and Dylan on the bed. If this meant tracking the killer, supernatural or not, he would have to interrogate Sam's friend.

Gently, he sat down opposite him and took a deep breath. "Dylan, I need to find out what happened. I need you to tell me everything, everything you heard, thought, saw-"

"I didn't see anything."

John sighed and was about to ask him to open up when Sam interrupted. "He was blindfolded. He couldn't see anything Dad."

A curt nod from John spoke both an apology and a confirmation that he meant business. Trying his best to keep his voice soft he leant in and spoke. "It's okay. Just tell me everything you heard from the moment you realized you were in trouble. Everything."

Dylan raised his frightful eyes to John and then glanced at Dean, then Sam. "You are cop, right?" He asked, remembering what he had heard earlier.

John could see Sam squirm from the corner of his eye and smiled thinly. "Yes, that's right. Did you hear that from Sam?"

Dylan nodded and bowed his head again. "So, that means I can tell you everything right? And I won't get in trouble?"

Sam thought of how much innocence his friend had and he secretly wished he wasn't plunged into the world of darkness and murder at such a young age.

"That's right. Tell us everything, even little details that you don't think will matter. You won't get into trouble."

Sam eyed his father and wondered where the Mr. Nice-Guy act was from. He surely could put up an act when things were in his favor.

"Well… it was… different. Yesterday, I saw my classmate hanging from the ceiling and I couldn't get the image out of my mind! It was hideous. I never knew anyone who could do such a thing! So I went home, splashed water on my face and my dad came back- like usual. He went to the fridge and pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels out. It's always his daily routine. I decided to watch some TV but halfway through I fell asleep on the couch."

Well, that must have been what happened because when I woke up I found my hands tied behind my back, and I was on the floor, the floor beneath me so cold it consumed me. I soon realized I was on the kitchen floor, and felt the freezing cold brush against my cheeks. I gathered that the refrigerator door must've been open. I couldn't open my eyes- it felt like an uncomfortable blanket was smothering me."

The rope around my ankles and wrists were tied too tightly, it bit into my skin." Dylan absently rubbed his wrists, his long nails trailing over his skin. "Before I could think up of a way to escape, I heard slow footsteps followed by murmuring. I tried to shuffle my way around but it was useless. I tried to use my shoulders to shrug off my blindfold, but whoever kidnapped me was a professional. I tried to talk but couldn't get a sound out. My throat was dry, raw and scratchy like it hadn't been used for decades."

I later realized it wasn't me who had been kidnapped, but I was a prisoner inside my own house. My father was several feet away from me and his murderer was circling him like a predator eyeing its prey before it lunged and sunk its fangs deep into juicy flesh. I was torn from my thoughts as a scream tore through the air, reverberating off the walls. It scared me, and I shrank smaller into a small figure. Something was happening to my father, and I was just a mere distance away doing nothing."

"I couldn't help it and realized the material of the tight blindfold on my cheeks wrapped around my eyes were turning damp. I heard my father plead for his life, cries of 'No's' bounced off the walls taunting me as I spun my head left to right. Heels tapped on my kitchen tile floor as shuffling could be heard, and then a trail of screams and cries. I racked my brain, trying to yell out and ask what was happening. Murderous laughter rang in my ears and I prepared for my fate- I shied away and all I could think of was for him- or her- to end this quickly and let me join my father. I knew he was dead since there was deafening silence, hanging around me like cobwebs that would never fade away."

"The clicking of heels soon disappeared as the front door opened and I was left by myself. It was unfair. Why leave me to such a lonely world full of loss and traitors? Shortly after the person left, someone crawled through the window and I heard his voice, recognizing him immediately."

Dylan nodded jerkily in Sam's direction as he finished his story. John took a deep breath that filled his lungs and let it out.

"Is that everything?"

"Everything."

John swallowed a lump in his throat. Sounds like nothing supernatural. Just some psycho murderer on the loose. Perhaps call the cops? John mentally shook his head. After more than years of training he knew to never get cops involved where he had a choice.

"It's getting late, Dylan." As soon as the words were out he realized his dilemma. "Would you like to stay with us? Just for… a few days maybe?"

John's skin tingled as hopeless eyes gazed back at him, so miserable and lost. "Yes, thank you." He whispered.

"Alright, Sam, get him comfortable. Dean, outside. I need to discuss something with you." Out of habit, Sam sent a questioning glance to John as he received a nod and John mouthed a single word enough for Sam to understand. 'Later.'

**000**

"Dad, what is it?" Dean closed the motel door behind him.

"That kid, he seems so…lost. He can't stay with us forever Dean, you know that. He's going to have to be sent to an orphanage or live with another family, relative, maybe."

"Something's definitely up though."

"I'm going to go research more on Dylan's father. There has to be a lead, supernatural or not."

"I'll stay with Sam and keep them company."

John shook his head slowly, still in thought. "That poor kid. I can only imagine what it feels like to be tied up in the same room as your father, and hearing him get murdered."

"He's only sixteen. I wonder what life he's going to live."

"I can tell he's a good kid. I hope he pulls through."

"Somehow I doubt it." Dean said as he looked at Sam talk to Dylan through the window. "You're right. It's like he's a shell of who he was. These cracks don't heal with simple superglue and words. It can turn you into something you're not."

"C'mon. Sooner we get this solved the better it'll be for everything. The library's only a five minute drive from here. I'll definitely be back before 10. Salt the doors and windows. Just keep them…distracted. If there's a chance, ask Dylan about his past or anything."

"Yes sir. Stay safe."

**000 **

Sam saw his family exit the motel and rested his eyes on his friend beside him. Edging slightly closer, he leant down and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry you had to go through that." He offered softly. What more could he say? That he should keep his head high and put what happened behind him even though he had 'witnessed' his father die?

Dylan didn't even try to smile as his eyes flicked over to Sam's, studying him. His hair shadowed his eyes that were once bright and full of life, but now they were dead and bore deep into Sam's soul.

"Dylan, say something."

"What is there to say? My life is cursed! My whole family is dead! And I'm the only one that stands. Is this some kind of prank sent by God? My mother was Christian. Why did God feel the need to punish us so badly?"

"Don't say that."

"What do you know?" Dylan's voice became a deadly whisper as his eyes narrowed, words rolling off his tongue with heavy bitterness. "Do you know how it feels like to have a father who doesn't communicate with you when he comes back from work?"

_Slightly, yes. _Sam thought.

"Do you know how lonely it gets? It feels like I'm suffocating because of the silence in my house. Every day, the walls seem to be closing in on me, waiting for the right moment to crush my bleeding heart and delete my face off the Earth's population. At night, even the crickets are resting and it's just me, sitting on the bathroom floor. My father is too drunk to notice and I look around me like there's no tomorrow. Do you know how that feels like?"

Sam looked down forlorn as he thought carefully of what to say. What _could_ he say? Cautiously he glanced at the clock ticking away, oblivious to the awkward moment in the room. It was 9:24pm. Just a little over half an hour before John and Dean comes back. Great.

"You don't, huh. No one knows how it feels like. I'm probably the only person in this world that has to go through this." Dylan stood up and walked over to the sink, eyeing the bottle of near-empty vodka. "Why is it always me?" He bellowed. It was obvious to Sam that he was grieving, blinded by the world of pain that consumed him.

Pouring a bit of vodka into his glass he turned around and faced Sam.

"Dylan." He warned. Now's not the time to get drunk.

The clear water swirled in the glass as Dylan twirled it around his fingers, as if contemplating what he should do with it. Pour it down the sink and watch it disappear down the drain like his life? Or toss his head back and welcome the new life he was going to lead by himself courageously?

His fingers encircling the cold cylinder shape, he hypnotically gazed into the mini whirlpool that formed while he had been fumbling it around. Sam sat on the edge of his seat, eyeing his friend carefully.

With one swift movement he jerked his head back and his hand followed, the vodka entering his throat. Slamming the glass down onto the bench, hard enough for the bottom of it to crack as it absorbed the force, Dylan sauntered over to Sam once again.

"I never knew my father. He was just a man that I lived with. I didn't know what he liked, what he wanted or what he deserved. But now…now that he's dead… It lies heavy upon your heart like oil dominating the water, slowly hacking away your insides like deadly bacteria set to destroy you. It's too much." Dylan said shaking his head.

"Dylan, calm down, please. Whatever it is, my father and brother can help."

"No! No they can't! I'm going to be sent to a Foster family! How can your family help? Adopt me?"

Sam clamped his mouth shut. He knew John would never adopt considering the things they did. He would have to repeat everything again starting from the basics, teaching him how to shoot a gun to telling him how to exorcise demons. That's not even counting the extra cash they needed to earn for a fourth member.

"You know it as well as I do, Sam."

"There has to be a way. The future isn't written in stone Dylan. We'll think of something, I promise."

Sam swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat, his own words to Dean nine years ago ringing in his ears. _Don't make promises you can't keep Dean!_

As if on cue, the motel door opened as John and Dean appeared, shrugging their coats off and placing them down. "I managed to pick up dinner." John announced, holding up paper bags.

**000**

"They're asleep."

"Good, what've you got?"

"I found out a bit about Lachlan's history." Dean said as he pulled some papers out from his coat. "Lachlan Krrost. Father of Dylan Krrost. Husband of Alicia Maubra. His wife died roughly nine or ten years ago, killed by a vicious animal." He shook his head.

"This must have been when Dylan was, what, seven years old? Poor kid. Wonder what happened."

"Must've been harsh now that his father is dead. Man I wonder how this kid is gonna grow up and forget his past."

"Well you know what? I went to that house Dylan described while you were at it. From the looks of it, it's been abandoned for a few years. There were some cops patrolling around the area and I didn't want to risk it. But whatever happened in there months ago must be pretty serious since they think it should be necessary to make sure no one goes in there again."

"What's going on in this town? It's like some killer on the loose and the cops aren't even trying to track them."

"Maybe we're dealing with someone that's too good for the cops. It would explain why they're not hauling his sorry ass to jail already."

John scrubbed a hand over his weary face. "The kid has the world to face all by himself. And in the next few days, he's gonna go to Foster care."

"Yeah, it's gonna be hard."

"Or we could ask him if he has any relatives."

"Don't think he does, or he wouldn't have stayed with us in the first place.

"I have a feeling that house has something got to do with these murders. But how does that explain the cops?"

Leaning back on the chair, Dean's fingernails rapped against the dining table.

"Go to sleep son. You'll need it. We have a whole day ahead of us full of researching. I told you there would be a hunt in this town."

"Yeah alright. I'll sleep on the couch since Dylan has my bed."

John solemnly nodded as he too wearily blinked. They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow.

**000**

Dean noticed something was wrong the instant he had woken up. His hand automatically reached under the pillow as he groped around for the blade he always hid there. Finding nothing, his heart beat increased and that was when he remembered he was sleeping on the couch. –Because Dylan was on his bed. With his pillow.

With the blade.

Mentally, he cursed himself as he shot straight up and darted into the room he normally shared with Sam. His eyes narrowed in thought when he found no one in the room. Dylan and Sam were gone. Quickly he checked the time and he released his breath.

Just in time he heard the door open and swiveled around to see John walk in with two cups of coffee in his hand.

"Hey Dad? Dylan and Sam left for school pretty early."

"They should have. I'm not so sure. I went to go grab coffee and breakfast."

"Oh, then he must've left early to get some breakfast." Dean laughed as he shook his head amusingly. "Smartass. Always one step ahead." He commented lightly.

"Yeah well that's your brother. Now hurry up and eat. You can have your brother's share if you want."

A hungry grin graced Dean's lips as he looked at the food while John sipped his coffee and read the newspaper.

"Lachlan made it to front page." He flipped the article over and shook it at Dean, his mouth filled with food so he replied with a curious nod. "The cops are on the same page with us. Know nothing more than just the severed leg, scorpions and the blood staining the carpet."

Swallowing his food, Dean added, "No, we know more than that. Dylan told us his side of the story."

"Yeah, true. There's something here that I can't exactly place my finger on. It's driving me insane."

"And the almighty Winchester falls!" Commentated Dean with his mouth full of food.

"I'm serious, Dean." John shot his eldest son a serious glare. "I feel like it's something that we don't have to rack our brains trying to think and it's under my nose but yet I can't seem to get a lead."

"Winchester Poetry." Dean stated with a hint of humor edging his tone.

"Dean, shut up and shove your food down your mouth. I need you. Daylight is wasting and we're on our asses doing nothing." John growled, although there was no harsh tone behind it.

A minute later, John stuffed the papers into his pockets and seized his keys. "Dean! C'mon, I think I might have something. We're going to the library."

Swallowing the last of his burger down, he wiped his hands on his jeans and put his coat on. John was already out the door before Dean threw his boots on as he quickly shut the motel door.

Being a Winchester- son of the professional hunter was one thing. Being a person that's trying to keep up with orders, hastily fumbling his way out the door before checking everything was another. And today, Dean Winchester missed something. Sam's muddy school shoes were huddled in the corner. But that wasn't something important is he _had_ noticed them after all, today was Sam's PE classes.

Jogging up to John's car, the engine was started before he even stepped foot into it. "Hold up Dad!"

**000**

Sam just felt so tired. It seemed like he didn't get enough sleep last night, but truth was, he did. His arms felt sore, and his legs just didn't cooperate. What ever happened to sports classes today? He thought. His mind drifted and he wondered what was going on. He felt his chin droop down to his chest and his whole body felt like jelly. Grasping the chair he was sitting on, he tried to lift himself up. Maybe he was sick? Where was Dylan? Maybe if he could go the clinic…

His body lost the battle as his whole head fell forward to his chest and succumbed to the darkness. He was just too tired. Hopefully his classmates or the period bell would wake him up when it's time. Even if he got in trouble for sleeping in class it wasn't much. He couldn't resist it.

**TBC.**

**Ah yes, and the Limp! (as promised) starts next chapter for lovely Sammy. Please tell me how you liked it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks so much for the reviews and support everybody! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry about a little late getting this chapter up. Something was happening on this site and it wouldn't let me upload. Grrr.**

He felt very proud of himself. After all, he first murdered Alex, and now Lachlan. And he had chosen his third victim. His thin lips turned into a bloodthirsty smile as he watched his victim slumped in the chair. His chosen victim was a young boy, adult features gracing his gentle being. His wrists were held securely by metal shackles, his ankles mirroring his wrists.

The wooden chair he was in looked like it could break any second, fragile legs holding such a bulk. But the captor knew the strength of the wood would be enough to last for a few more years. After all, he had previously murdered a few people who had been bound there.

Strands of hair tumbled down the victim's scalp in waves, oblivious to his fate. His eye had been blackened by a vicious punch and his shoulder had been dislocated from the cause of fighting with his kidnapper. A brick to his head caused him to black out immediately and his captor was getting anxious for him to wake up.

Losing his patience, he grasped a nearby minute valve of acid and whipped the liquid at the boy before him. Droplets of Nitric Acid flew through the air and clung themselves onto the teenager's clothes as they started to burn a hole through the material and sink in the skin. They took affect immediately as he jerked awake, the metal restraints snapping him back onto the chair. His eyes were wide, strained as he felt the burning sensation.

His dislocated shoulder screamed in agony, wanting more attention but it was not given. The boy threw his head back, gasping for oxygen as the world spun and tilted- even his captor's face seemed like a blurry shadow to him as he dipped his head down and shut his eyes, his breathing deep and carefully controlled to ride the pain.

He felt his captor edge closer towards him, his hot breath dancing past his cheeks.

"Does that feel good?" He whispered.

He couldn't find the strength to reply. Instead, he worked around a way to escape. Testing his restraints, his heart clenched painfully as he realized they were metal.

Feeling fingers lightly trail up his arm, just hovering above the small hairs close enough to tickle his skin, he shivered. Gripping boy's dislocated shoulder with a ferocious force, he leaned in.

"How would you like me to do you a favor? I'll set this back for you, nice…and easy." He croaked; his voice barely recognizable.

The boy shook his head but whimpered as he remembered the brick he had collided with. Painful bolts of electricity shot through him but it was nothing compared to what came next. Before he could prepare himself, before he could take a deep breath, his captor had both hands on his dislocated shoulder and jerked it sideways.

If his shoulder wasn't badly dislocated before, it was now. With a sickening crack, instead of relocating it the captor had twisted it more out of place!

The boy tried his best not to scream, but his best was not enough. His shoulder was burning, diabolical flames licking at his joint. More and more pain, but never room for healing. Sweat trickled down his temple as agonizing pain shot down his arm, whimpers escaping him while his captor stepped back and chuckled heartily.

The screamed and forceful attention was gained as the mild burns on his chest were forgotten as his knuckles grew white, his hand grasping the arms of the chair in a tight death grip. Resisting the urge not to make a sound as the laughter of his kidnapper taunted him, he bit his tongue although he couldn't help but let a lone tear escape.

All this time, his eyes remained shut as if afraid to open them and look at his ugly formed shoulder. He was too tired to hide the shivers that coursed through his spine but couldn't bite back a groan as it jostled his shoulder, bones jarring against each other.

His mind plunged into the deepest of oceans to find the darkness he was pleading to cave in on him and make him ascend to the heavens where he would be stripped of pain and cruelty. A sharp and distant pain tore his breath from his lungs but no matter; it granted him his desired wish. He was immediately engulfed by black murky water swirling around him as he dived into the sea, his limbs incoherent as they floated like a marionette above his head. His eyes slid shut; his face without a sign of pain or worry and his shoulders visibly slumped, no longer the need for them to tense and withstand the unforgivable pain that tortures his every being.

At that moment, Sam Winchester fell into peaceful unconsciousness that made even the smallest of his muscles relax.

**000**

"What is it Dad?"

"There's _got_ to be something we've missed. I thought of something- you remember how Dylan's mother died nine years ago?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"Could it be possible she came back as an angry spirit? Died an angry death? It could also possibly be why Dylan's so distressed to see his father die."

Dean cocked his head to one side, narrowing his eyes as he thought about it. "Could be possible." He said slowly, chewing his bottom lip. "Do we have any proof?"

"It said she was killed by a vicious animal. Sounds like it to me."

"Would that house have something to do with it?"

"It's a loada trash there."

"But you haven't been in," Dean countered. "You can't judge something without seeing it first."

"That place is like a damn cop-magnet. Something terrible must have happened."

"I could distract them and then you can sneak in, snoop around and then get out." Dean suggested.

"I've got a better idea." John shook his head. "We'll ask the cops what exactly happened that made them so alert. There's nothing wrong with curiosity right?"

"What ever happened to curiosity killed the cat?" Dean muttered under his breath. Something odd was happening. And they were running out of time. A fourth victim would be chosen and killed. And if Dylan's mother was really the killer, she'd have to go down.

The car smoothly slid into a halt on the flat gravel beneath the tires as Dean and John stepped out, slamming the doors as they walked to the trunk and picked up their loaded pistols, tucking them behind their waistbands.

Walking through the trees, they straightened at the sight of the cops and tried to act normal, lost though curious as John had repeated on their drive here. John stumbled as they reached the clearing, deliberately alerting two of the cops to jerk their heads towards his direction.

"What are you two doing here? This is restricted grounds!" The first one shouted, his pistol aimed at John.

"Woah, woah! We didn't mean to cause so much trouble!" John exclaimed, professionally looking from left to right holding his hands up.

"What are you two doing here?" The second guard mimicked.

"Hey, I just recently moved here, thought it'd be cool to take my son on a little hike through the woods!"

Eyeing them suspiciously, the two guards softened and nodded. Lowering their guns to their side, they exchanged glances. Their gazes relaxed as their orbs turned into handsome hazel and brown. Instantly, John knew he had gained the upper hand.

"What happened here?"

"You don't wanna know." The first guard mumbled.

"We wouldn't even tell you if you begged. You'll frighten everyone else." The other spoke.

John's shoulders slumped as he looked down onto the ground. "That big, huh?"

"Yes, it's big! You think we'd be dumb enough to guard this area day and night?"

"What are you guys still doing here anyway? You're lucky we didn't start shooting!"

"I have two other kids and my wife who lives with me." John started. "Please, just tell me what's going on. I won't tell a soul. I'd just like to know what's going on so I can keep a better eye on them since I know what's out there."

Taking a deep breath, the second guard nodded. Dean's eyebrows raised the slightest bit seeing the guards give in so easily. _Seems like I'm not the only one with the Winchester charm_, he thought humorously.

Jerking his thumb back and pointing at the house, the guard spoke softly. "People were murdered in there- the whole floor was covered in blood!" His voice dropped as if he were an old grandfather telling his grandkids of the boogeyman around the campfire. "There were no bodies though." John and Dean found themselves edging closer to hear his raspy voice.

"There was so much blood; no one could even predict how many people had died in the massacre. Who could've done such a thing? As the days pass, more and more people in town started disappearing. Mostly school kids- teenagers."

"There's this one night," The other guard continued, "It was like someone was crying. Wailing and whining as if pleading for something. We _both_ heard it. It sounded like it was coming from inside the house, but at the same time all around us."

"Female?" Dean spoke for the first time.

"Sounded like it, although we're not so sure on anything anymore."

"During that time, did you go in the house or check around the woods?" John asked, curious.

"Are you insane? Hell no! If you heard some chick crying for her life would you burst in and see what was up?"

_Yes, of course!_ "You're right. Sorry."

"I thought you said she was whining and wailing? So she's crying for her life now?" Dean asked, his interests peaking.

"Well…Same thing isn't it? We haven't heard it again though. It was just that one night."

"Most people would be throwing their jobs away if they were put in a situation like you."

"Yeah." They both laughed, a…forced? –type of laugh. "Well I guess we're not most people. We're curious, and as they say-"

"Curiosity killed the damn cat. I've heard that more than once today." John grumbled gruffly. If the situation wasn't so tense Dean would have burst out laughing.

"Well, that's all. Good luck with keeping your family safe. I understand how you must feel. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. I don't want the whole town freaking."

"You have my word."

"Go, now."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Dean spun around on his heel and stalked away as John smiled at the two guards, surveying the blackened house before him and was about to walk away when he thought he saw something. A dark smudge on the charred wooden door.

His eyebrows knitted together as he stared. Obviously noticing John's abrupt stop, the first guard called out to him. "Something wrong?!"

His eyes snapped over to him and shook his head. "Nothing! Was just thinking about your tale, that's all."

Quickly turning his gaze back to the smudge one last time he turned and followed Dean as they walked out of the woods together. John swallowed a lump in his throat. What did this all mean? Why had there been fresh blood smeared on the door?

**000**

Fingernails dug on the flesh on his neck as Sam felt a disturbance in his breathing. His eyes flew open and noticed nothing but a hand protruding from his throat. Gasping for air he hung his mouth open as his chest burned for the desire of oxygen, a crackling inferno that was burning inside him hungry for air.

Dark spots twinkled in Sam's vision as the inferno intensified, and only then did the iron grip relax and pull away. Taking long breaths, Sam spluttered and coughed, his metal shackles holding him firmly in place, decorating perfect red ringlets around his wrists. Remembering his dislocated shoulder, Sam whimpered as he jostled it and tried to control his breathing.

"Sam."

One word was spoken and that was enough to make his head snap to the right, surprising even himself that he didn't succeed in breaking his neck. His eyes widened as he felt himself start to hyperventilate, breaths coming out in short gasps while his own fingernails dug into his palm.

"Dylan?" He whispered as his chest heaved. Could this really be possible? No…no. Of course not.

"Glad to see you awake." He continued, ignoring Sam.

"_Dylan?_" He said it louder, his words coated with disbelief. "What are you doing?"

Dylan smiled, his lips curling as his eyes gleamed something that spoke of evil. "I'm doing what I do best, Sam. Don't you respect that?" He spoke slowly though innocently, drawing out every word.

Frightened brown eyes were met with cunning and over-confident orbs as Sam denied the truth. How could it be Dylan? Dylan Krrost, his best friend at school!

"You…you killed all of them?"

Nodding with a grin, Dylan clapped his hands, the sharp sound echoing around the empty space.

"You strangled Alex with his own intestines?" Sam didn't want to hear the answer.

"Oh it was fun." He chuckled. "He was pushing everyone around! Wouldn't you like to see him cower and plead for his life like a poor boy with his hands bound behind his back before a guillotine?"

"What you did to him was so much worse! You gutted him like an unworthy animal and strung him up for the whole class to see! Hell, even _you_ were there!"

Dylan shrugged. "What can I say? Astonishing acting skills huh? And just a bit of imagination."

Sam shuddered. How could he have possibly befriended a psychotic killer, when he acted so nice and innocent during school?! That also peaked something else Sam wanted to ask.

"What did you do to him? Did you…use fire on him? He had burns on his chest and face!"

Laughing, he shook his ahead amusingly. "Using fire? Now where's the fun in that?"

Sam didn't want to know. Laughter reverberated around him as Dylan continued. "I'm sure you pay attention in class Sammy-boy, especially in chemistry. You've surely heard of Nitric Acid then, right?"

Eyes widening in sick realization, Sam threw his head to one side and threw up contents of breakfast and saliva.

"By the looks of it I think you might've guessed. It's the same thing that burnt those amazing holes in your shirt Sammy. Aren't I a genius?" He turned his palms to the roof in an exaggerated manner as Sam felt sick all over again.

"How did I even become _friends_ with you?!" He spat.

"You just have to fit in the crowd, that's all. And then take them down one, by one."

"So you killed your own father too?"

"Yeah, basically," Came the curt response. "I think I became a bit suspicious after Alex's death. I needed cover up."

Gaping, Sam tried to find his voice but he found none. How could Dylan act so _normal_? Questions loaded his mind like a gun ready to shoot but he couldn't speak.

"I hear you asking how I was tied up then." Placing both hands behind his back, Dylan raised them above his head and then placed it in front of him, drawing a semi circle. His shoulders popped out of their joints, and then simply popped back in.

"Double jointed shoulders, "He stated calmly. "It's really handy when you want to…oh I don't know…make yourself look like the victim? Just gag and blindfold yourself, tie your hands in front of you so you have the chance to make them look tight, then simply put them behind your back. Dylan score 2, Sammy nil."

"Don't you dare call me Sammy." Sam whispered, venom tinting his words.

"Aw what's wrong? Is it one of those names only Mommy can call you?" A brief second of timed silence, and before Sam could react Dylan was at it again. "Ah sorry Sam. Almost forgot you lost your mom when you were little. Poor thing."

Anger made his chest heave. Another question sparked and Sam found that he had to force this one out. "Did you…kill your own mom?"

Dylan's eyes hardened and looked downwards. "I was seven when my mom was murdered. I was there, and I remember everything. No one believes me though, who would believe a seven year old? I witnessed my mother die. A man came into our house and held her hostage. He sunk his teeth into my mother's neck! She was pregnant with someone who could've been my sibling right now!! That …_man_ decided he could come into my life and destroy it, set it alight and burn it until not even the ashes remain."

Sam's mind raced. _Vampire?_ Is it possible?

"Dylan, did this man…did he have fangs?"

"Fangs? Are you crazy?"

"You're mother could possibly have been murdered by a vampire!" It was probably the remark about Mary that sent Sam shouting the truth before he could stop himself. It was out of Sam's mouth before he knew it and he realized his mistake.

The whole world tilted as hard knuckles collided with his chin, his head snapping backwards.

"Don't you _dare_ insult my mother! Vampires? My mother was killed by a _vampire_? What on fucking Earth is wrong with you Sam? Are you really that into comics and cartoons?"

Sam felt the room spin, the colors merging together as Dylan punched him again. "What world are you living in? My mother was killed by a madman, not some insane vampire!"

-And again.

"Say that once more and I will not hesitate to cut your tongue off!" Dylan gripped his blade and held it above him, emphasizing his threat.

Another smacking sound as the legs of the chair Sam was in rocked back and forth, the force of Dylan's punches threatened it to topple over. Repetitive screams tore free from Sam's voice box as this proved agonizing for his injured shoulder. As soon as Dylan was done, Sam could barely keep his eyes open. Three separate trails of blood streamed down he right side of his face and blood leaked out of his mouth as he had accidentally clamped his mouth on the inside of his cheek.

Wanting nothing more to see Dean burst through the doors- wherever the doors are- gave him cold comfort. His family might think he was still at school. To say Sam felt light headed was an understatement. He felt like he was drifting between two worlds, trying to stay on the right one as the floor acted like waves rippling in slow motion beneath him like a magician's trick while he performed on stage.

"Oh no you don't." Dylan hissed as he gripped the size of Sam's head with bony fingers trying to make him stay conscious.

"W-why Dy-Dylan?" Sam rasped.

Leaning in so that his lips were touching Sam's ear, he spoke his well known answer most victims would know.

"Because you deserve it. Now if you slip away from me, the consequences will be dire." He whispered.

A sob escaped from Sam as he couldn't control his body. He began to shut down, returning to that beautiful peaceful place where unconsciousness was made a dreadful word for it. Desperately clinging onto Dylan's voice he tried to pry his eyes open. His head lolled backward and then finally forward, stilling when it touched Sam's chest.

_The consequences will be dire…_

Having no time to think he felt his mind slip away from the pain and loneliness where he could worry about nothing.

Dylan straightened and smiled, the evil glint in his eyes so deadly that if looks could kill, it would widely spread like a plague dominating the whole city.

"I warned you Sammy. Fear the consequences. Suffer at the meaning of brutal murder." He boomed and then finally, he whispered. "Fear me."

**000**

"It sounds like the spirit."

"I don't think it is," John said. "Before I left I saw something on the door. I recognized it as a blood smear. It seemed fresh to me."

"And?"

"I don't know. Somehow, this doesn't seem like the typical angry spirit thing. I mean scorpions and a severed leg? Hanging from the ceiling by intestines? Something strange is going on here. I have a feeling it's revolving around Dylan. First, his mother died nine years ago, and now his father?"

"Would Dylan be the next victim?" Dean asked.

"I can't say. I honestly don't know."

"Speaking of Dylan, shouldn't Sam be home by now?"

"Yeah. Who knows what he's up to? Don't worry, he'll be home soon. Plus, he can help us with some research."

"Something doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean, son?" John's eyes were on him now.

"I dunno. Just… a feeling."

"It should be nothing." John assured.

"Yeah, Sam better come home soon."

They both paced around the kitchen anxiously waiting and thinking of a good theory at the same time. After a few minutes and a more than a few nervous glances at the clock from Dean, John spoke.

"I'm definitely going into that house tonight, cops or not. I think that whatever is in there may tell us more than we already know."

"Yeah, it's worth a try. I don't think there are many cops actually. Two or three a night? I can easily distract them."

"No, Dean. You're staying here with Sammy."

"What about you?!" Dean exclaimed. "How are you going in there without being seen?"

"I've got my ways. I need you to stay here and keep Sammy safe." He ordered with a nod.

"Alright then. If you're not home by 11pm I'm going to that house personally."

"I'll be back by 11, don't you worry. I'll go there at approximately 7:30pm." Glancing at his watch, his eyebrows knitted together. "Sam should be home an hour ago!"

Before Dean could say anything, he reacted on instinct as he swiped his cell off the dining table and speed dialed Sam. "C'mon Sammy, pick up." He whispered quietly as John watched silently beside him.

_H,i you've reached Sam. Sorry I was unable to answer your call, please leave a message._

"Damn!" Dean shouted as he called again. "C'mon Sammy, please." Again, Sam's message met Dean's ears as he called for the third time. "You better not be out partying." Dean growled but deep inside he knew that wasn't the answer. Hell, Sam would even call and ask them if he could stay back twenty minutes after school to do some research on Antarctica in the library!

"He's not picking up." Dean said, the sound of his phone snapping shut filled the room.

Seizing his coat, John rushed out the door once again. "We'll see where Dylan is. Maybe he can tell us something."

"How are we going to find him? His house is a damn crime scene!"

"We'll go to the school. They could be around the streets, we have to make sure! Only then do we know what really happened."

The Impala roared to life as John pulled out of the driveway, pressing down on the gas pedal as it rumbled down the street. It was getting dark, the gray carpet blanketing the sky as a thunderstorm threatened to appear. Dean was out of the car before it stopped, bursting through the school gates and saw lights in the front office.

Three heads snapped up as Dean pushed the door open with such force it slammed onto the wall behind it. Strolling up to the desk and gripping it tightly, he spoke to the lady before him. "Are you familiar with a boy called Sam Winchester? Fifteen year old, around …" Dean would have laughed if this situation wasn't as serious as he placed his hand flat beside the peak of his head. "…this tall? Brown hair, good student?"

"Sammy Winchester? Sure I am. Got into heaps of trouble today."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Well he was supposed to be in detention with Mr. Shawn because of that stupid fight a few days back."

"He skipped it?" Dean's heart thumped loudly in his chest. That didn't sound like Sam.

"Well he didn't skip it…" The lady sighed. "I know Sam Winchester. He's a good kid. Sounded like he jigged school today with that kid Dylan."

"He skipped school? That's not possible ma'am, that's not possible."

"I'm sorry. Some teenagers get out of hand during that age and-"

"No, you don't understand. Sam's not that type of kid. How certain are you he didn't show up today?" Dean swallowed a lump in his throat, perspiration made its own trails down Dean's forehead as he tensed his grip on the edge of the table.

"I'm positive honey. He didn't show up for any of the classes, and none of his classmates have seen him. And if you haven't seen him all day, then he must have been out partying or something."

"Sam _wouldn't_ do that. You don't know him."

"Yes, that's true. Good luck with him sweetheart." She gave a sad smile that only lasted a millisecond as Dean spun around and sprinted out the door entering the Impala as fast –if possible faster- than he had exited.

"Any news?" John asked.

"Dad, Sammy didn't go to school today."

Dean saw John's eyes widen. "He has to have! We saw them gone in the morning remember? Their schoolbags-"

"We didn't check their bags Dad. Besides, Dylan didn't even have his schoolbag! It's probably still at his house."

"They left so early! Something must have happened. Nobody could have taken them in the middle of the night, we'd hear!"

"And you'd think we'd also hear them leave in the morning right?" Dean countered ironically.

John brought his fist forcefully down on the steering wheel.

"Could it be Dylan?"

"That doesn't sound right. Why would Dylan take Sam?" John's words were rushed as he twisted his keys, the engine once again coming to life as he sped down the road.

"Well his window wasn't open!"

"Did you actually see?"

"Sonofabitch, no!"

"Alright. We get back to the motel and look for anything, any clues, and any signs of a struggle. We should have already done this!" John bellowed.

"We both thought he was at school Dad! We don't casually check if windows or open or anything! Besides, you came back with food and before I had a chance to react you were running out the door! I barely had any chance to react!"

"We're Winchesters. We should be careful wherever we go!"

"Dad! Drop it! Stop putting the blame all on me!"

John glanced at Dean, his anger gone. It was very rare that Dean had defended himself and said that he was the one that had gone wrong. Sighing as the motel came into sight, he rubbed his hands over his eyes.

"You're right. I'm sorry son."

Dean looked at his Dad before entering the motel, and in and instant he was in the room he normally shared with Sam. His eyes scanned the room but nothing seemed out of place. The window was down, even locked and the ring of salt around it was as perfect as it had been the day before.

No sign of breaking in and no sign of struggle. Frustrated, Dean looked at everything in the room once again and inspected it closely. Downstairs, he heard John call him.

"Anything?"

"Hang on!!" Dean shouted. It was then that he realized something was wrong. Why hadn't he realized earlier? Cursing at his clumsiness, he strode over to his bed and looked at the pillow. It was distorted. Gripping it, feeling the soft material under his fingers he threw it to the side where it plummeted to the ground.

Eyes widening in disbelief he mounted on his bed and looked down the gap between the wall and the head of the bed.

His blade was missing. No one knew that it existed under Dean's pillow except Sam! Sam wouldn't have told anyone. Not even Dylan. And Dean knew that that secret had been exposed as soon as he agreed to let Dylan sleep on his bed.

"Find anything?" John asked as Dean appeared at the doorway.

"My blade! Dylan took my blade!"

"What blade Dean?" Panic edged his tone as he narrowed his eyes.

"For precaution, I keep a blade under my pillow. It's missing and I swore it was there last night. No one knows about this except Sam. And now it's gone. The window's closed, the salt around it is perfectly normal. What do you make of that?"

"You think it's Dylan?"

"I don't know what to think here. But right now, he's my prime suspect." Dean growled.

John nodded, although he wasn't quite agreeing with Dean on everything. "Don't start assuming anything, son. We're only going on very slim proof here."

"Very slim? My blade is missing! Who would steal that? No one would! And then Sam goes missing! I bet you they're connected. Somehow, Dylan stole the blade to do something. Oh God! What if-"

"Don't jump to conclusions! I think that house may have something to do with this. Remember what I said? About the fresh blood smear?"

"And if we don't find anything?"

"We'll see. There has to be something there."

"Sammy better be alright." Dean swore.

**TBC.**

**Please let me know how you liked it!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Stalking on his victim, Dylan became impatient as Sam was still out of it. Playing with the bottle of Nitric Acid, a droplet trailed up the neck of the bottle and landed on his finger. Holding it up to his face, he smiled as the pain felt like a little mosquito bite. Pouring more onto his palm, the chemical hissed as he came in contact with the skin but Dylan didn't seem to care- he was enjoying it.

Glancing up, Sam had not moved the slightest bit. Deciding that his patience was at its end, he slammed his fist into Sam's diaphragm. Sam's eyes burst open, endless fits of coughs assaulted him as he couldn't draw breath into his lungs. Struggling to cooperate and inhale, he was distracted as he saw something come at him from the corner of his eye. Before he knew what was happening, a boot slammed into the side his face full force as the chair toppled backwards.

The wooden chair broke into pieces as it collided with the concrete floor, and this was Sam's freedom. Dylan took full force of his attack that when he kicked Sam, the strength he put in it made him spin and nearly land face first into the floor.

Taking this advantage, Sam pounced up and sprinted to the other side of the room where it led to another room. Planks of wood protruded from Sam's metal shackles, numerous cuts were on Sam's arms and legs as splinters embedded themselves into Sam's flesh.

Twisting his neck to the sound of pounding footsteps, Dylan saw the pile of wooden scraps that was once a chair and then his eyes flicked to Sam. A flash of movement, and then he disappeared behind the door.

Grasping a long chain and the blade he had been eyeing all night at the stay at the Winchester's house, he set in the search of Sam, his lips curling forming a victorious smirk. If he was wrong and Sam escaped from here, he had a backup plan.

He had other people involved.

"Sam?" He called out in a sing0-song voice and stopped to listen for any noises. "Why are you hiding from your best friend?"

The concrete ground gave him an advantage, stilling his footsteps as he walked. Beams of moonlight shone through various cracks and gaps in the walls where wood had once filled it. Oh how he loved this house. The very house his dull and boring life ended and a new one began.

"Saaammmy!!" He drawled out.

**000**

Sam broke free and ran as fast as possible, his head spun from the previous beating his face had taken before. He reached a new room and turned right as fast as he could. His aching shoulder proved painful in this process.

How big was this house? He thought. Seemed like something a family of six would live in. Glimpsing at the metal shackles around his wrist, he pulled the loose planks of wood out. Stilling his fast jog to a slow tip-toe, he looked around the house.

"Sam?" A moment of silence. "Why are you hiding from your best friend?"

His voice sent shivers down Sam's spine. _Best friend my ass_, he thought; though grateful that Dylan called out. He was somewhere behind him to the right, which means it was safe to go left. Turning at the next doorway, Sam skillfully maneuvered around the old and battered furniture when he thought he heard something move. He froze. That was when he noticed the old fireplace, the flames crackling and licking the oxygen around it. No, it was something else. Something whose movements were fast and speedy.

It couldn't be Dylan! Something long slithered out from the corner of his eye as he turned towards it. Its tongue snaked out of its mouth like a worm and hissed and Sam could imagine the venom that holds in its fangs.

Sam's eyes locked with the snake in front of him. The length of it was unknown since it was coiled up, its neck perched high as its black beady eyes bore into Sam's. Taking slow strides backwards, he prayed that it would not pounce on him.

He had to get out and find his father and brother. He would not die in this God forsaken house! When he felt his back press against the wall, grimacing as it put pressure on his dislocated shoulder. He sidestepped until he was met with an empty space behind him belonging to another doorway. Looking at the snake one more time as it advanced on him, he fled, his legs springing him off the floor as he sprinted.

And the snake pounced and hissed at the same time. Uncoiling itself, it was as long as half the room! Sam would have been dead if not for a mere second of luck. He felt the fabric of his denim jeans on its jaws as they tore free from Sam's pants. Hissing in anger and the feeling of failure, it coiled itself again and waited for the next victim that would set foot in this room.

Sam felt something tug sharply at the material around his ankle and instantly knew it was the snake. Without a second thought he gained his speed and flung himself around the corner of the next room, slamming his back against the wall once again as his chest heaved and sweat made a circle around the front of his shirt, circling his neck. He couldn't stop himself from crying out as the impact jostled the bones in his shoulder.

Everything was quiet, and for once he was afraid that Dylan was able to hear something that would give him away. The fear was easily forgotten as he looked at the new room he had gotten himself in. He recognized it! It was the one he had started with! Silently jogging up to the table, he saw all types of weapons. Smiling at his discovery, he reached for the revolver and another placed a .45 behind his waistband- just in case.

Checking the chambers for bullets, he breathed a sigh of relief seeing them both full. Now he was loaded and ready for anything to come. Glancing at the pile of wooden planks that once held him captive, he maneuvered around the rooms looking for Dylan.

The hunted had just become the hunter.

He smiled to himself. No Winchesters were ever made the prey. They were born a cunning predator from day one.

His small smirk disappeared as he heard slow, steady footsteps not far from him. Slowing his breathing he listened contently. His heart pounded in his chest loud enough for his ears to hear.

"Sonofabitch." Sam mouthed silently to himself as he realized Dylan was a lot closer than he thought. Footsteps grew louder as Sam gripped the revolver with such strength. Dylan appeared in front of him, holding a large machete and Sam only acted out on instinct as he sprung back, the tip of the blade shallowly piercing his skin in one swift moment.

He had been lucky. There was no time to breathe a sigh of relief as he dodged to the side and without thinking, fired. Dylan threw himself behind the wall of the room next door as bullets embedded themselves on the brown, nearly black wall.

Cursing, he took his chance and fled out of the room to the next, and readied himself. Dylan burst through the opening, bullets soaring above his head as they tore through the air with no intended target. He slid across the floor feet first and tackled Sam causing him to lose his balance, blindly firing his revolver before he dropped it as he landed on the floor.

A lucky bullet found its way to the machete Dylan had been holding as it shot itself out of his hand. Sam rolled to the right, each turn sent agonizing bolts of electricity up Sam's injured shoulder but this was a matter of life and death. Quickly standing, he reached behind him for the .45 but Dylan had already planned his next move.

Charging at him, he slammed his whole body onto Sam as they both fell. Dylan regained his composure and he straddled Sam, repetitively punching him like he once did. Sam's head snapped to the left and right. His sight blinded by pain, his hearing blocked by the sound of flesh hitting bones and his sense of smell was invaded by a slick coppery substance running down his nose.

He held his breath as he lifted one of his legs and slammed his knee on Dylan's head. He crumpled at once, falling off Sam but he was still alive and alert. Reaching behind his shirt, he grasped the .45 and clicked the safety off but was rewarded with a kick that sent the gun straight into the air. Both of them watched with hungry eyes as it landed and Sam rushed over to have it in his hand.

Dylan growled and dived for the revolver which was left abandoned on the ground, feeling the cool comforting metal beneath his fingers, he spun and fired. For a second, time seemed to freeze as Dylan pressed the trigger but nothing happened.

Glancing at the chamber, he realized Sam had used up everything. "You bastard!" he shouted as he saw Sam with the .45 in his hands. In a flash, he propelled himself to the right; hands first as he finished with an army roll.

Sam cussed. His enemy was harder than he looked. A glint of metal flashed in his eyes and he knew what was going to happen next. Dropping to the ground so his belly was against the ice-cold concrete floor, he yelped as the machete sliced through the air above him where his neck once was. It jutted out on the wall behind him, the blade quivering as it grew fuzzy around the edges.

Having no time to waste, Sam jumped up and took on his enemy charging towards him like an enraged bull and started off with a roadhouse kick to his face. Stumbling back, his hands covering his nose, Dylan yelled. "You broke my nose! You bastard!"

A grin of satisfaction came from Sam as he leveled the gun. His finger tightening on the trigger, he paused. Something at the back of his mind said otherwise. _Leave him! If you kill him, you'd be as bad as him! Leave him to the cops!_

Agreeing with the strange voice, Sam stalked up to him and pistol whipped Dylan. Just as his wrist passed through allowing the pistol to collide with Dylan's temple, he was stopped as a hand clamped down on his. "Not today, bitch." He whispered as he kicked Sam's legs out from under him. Sam gasped and collapsed on his injured arm, a blood curdling cry tore from his lips.

Expertly flipping him onto his back, Dylan wrapped his arm around Sam's neck and bent it backwards. Leaning in, he whispered. "Remember when I never told you where I learnt to fight?"

This was too much of a déjà vu for Sam as he felt his air supply cut off once again. He rasped out a 'No' not so much answering to his question but a plea to let him go.

"I would capture my victims and let run around in this maze of a house. Like lab rats, running around trying to find their food. I feel like a black belt professional at Tae Kwon Doe now."

Sam knew that one tiny movement and his neck would snap. Weakly, he mustered up all his strength and threw a punch over his head. Luck was on his side as his knuckles collided with Dylan's broken nose. He broke free and blindly ran, his sight was distorted as he tried to breathe.

Hearing an enraged cry behind him only made him run faster. His throat became dry as he panted, catching his breath as he weaved from room to room like an athlete desperate for the gold medal. Wanting nothing more than to find the 'main' room where all the weapons were placed, his heart beat sky rocketed as all he was passing through were unfamiliar rooms, though strangely enough they looked the same as the others.

He should have known better. He was a newcomer in this world of mazes and he was no match to a person who had spent half of their entire life memorizing the ways and shortcuts around this.

He felt the pain before he registered what was going on. It felt like a burning poker had lodged itself into his throat as it burned and twisted unforgivably. Suddenly, he was on the floor, the roof spinning above him as he saw a blur and unmistakable eyes staring down at him that made him choke out a last plea.

Then he knew no more.

**000**

Dylan cursed, thick blood sliding down and staining his teeth from his broken nose. Smiling as he saw Sam run away blindly, he gripped the chain that he had picked up for precaution and expertly took the shortest way to reach the same room Sam would be in.

Hearing rapid footsteps, his grip tightened and the timing was perfect. He lashed out; extending his arm in such a fast motion it became a blur. The chain projected like a jaguar prancing out from its hiding place ready to end the life of an antelope and just at that moment Sam turned the corner. The end of the chain caught his throat, whipping around it as it tightened with every swing.

Proud of what he had done, Dylan reached over and began expertly tying Sam up with his chain, clinks of metal knocking against each other.

"You're in for some pain Sammy. As I promised, the consequences will be dire." He smiled as Sam's throat began to swell, a swirl of black and purple forming on the skin.

It wasn't long before Sam stirred, his initial reaction proved futile as he shot straight up, the chains bounding his limbs dragging along the floor. He tried to draw oxygen into his lungs but he ended up gasping for his life. He found it incredibly hard to breathe through his mouth let alone swallow. Saliva painfully slid down his throat as he winced and struggled relentlessly against his new bonds.

He was tied up on the ground in a room that seemed frighteningly familiar though he couldn't place it. He wasn't sure of how long he had been out- the only thing he registered and cared to think about was the pain. He had given nearly everything he had to win the upper hand against Dylan earlier, but he had an advantage that Sam didn't. He knew his way around the whole area blindfolded. He knew which ways led to where and he knew which paths the victims would choose due to the bright or dull rooms which seem to capture their attention while they were running for their lives.

His whole body ached and pleaded for some peace, his shoulder was burning as bolts of pain bolted through him. His face felt detached to his body and while an eye was forming a palette of dark and ugly colors, his cheeks stung and felt flushed.

"Dad," He whispered in a hoarse and strained voice, the pressure on his throat too much to bear. "Dean, where are you?" His eyes glistened briefly as a single teardrop trailed down his face, separating the trails of blood into two. He choked back a sob, repeating a mantra to himself silently in his head that he should stay strong. Fighting the urge to unlock the flood gates open, he tested the bonds around his ankles.

There was certainly no way he was getting out of these. Before he had a chance to think, echoing footsteps were headed his way. Sam struggled more in his bonds, squirming as he tried to run from his fate.

_Calm down! Calm down!_ He ordered himself as his breathing went out of control which caused his Sam unimaginable from his swollen throat. _Calm DOWN!_ He screamed at himself as he clenched his teeth even tighter.

"Oh Saaaammmy!" Dylan sang out eerily.

Sam started to hyperventilate which caused him to splutter out coughing. He tried to draw oxygen into his lungs, but his heart beat raced ahead and his breathing was too much for him to handle. His vision started blurring, black shadows looming in around the sides and the last thing he remembered was his right temple clashing against the icy cold ground.

**000**

"Alright Dean, remember what I told you."

"Yes, sir."

Their feet were quick against the leafy terrain as the house came into view. The two cops, the same ones as the other day, stood patrolling it. John lowered his gun and hid behind a tree, nodding once to Dean giving him the signal. Dean nodded back and hid his gun expertly before running towards the cops, panic laced his voice.

"You again!" The first yelled before Dean even had a chance to speak.

"Help! Help- You have to help me!"

"Son, what is it? What's wrong?"

Panic eyes scanned their two faces as Dean's hands began to tremble slightly. "My-my father, he disappeared. My sister claims she heard someone cry out, like a cry of the wolf, though humane at the same time!"

"You told them?" He cried, enraged.

"No! I swear on my life I didn't! I _wouldn't_! My father is missing!" Dean's words were rushed as he emphasized each word. "Please, can you come to my house to see if you know anything?"

The cops hesitated and glanced at each other nervously.

"Please, I'm begging you. Something's happening!"

"Alright, alright." The second cop surrendered. "You stay here, and I'll see what's up." He told the first cop.

Dean's eyes widened the tiniest bit. "What? No, no! Both of you come! Theses woods are… frightening to say the least. We have no time! I need both of you to watch each other's backs!"

Hesitantly, both cops nodded and followed Dean as he led them away from the house. Behind the tree, John nodded approvingly and smiled. "Nicely done, son." He whispered under his breath and wasted no time as he sprinted to the house and inspected it.

Front door- unlocked. No back door. No windows. John silently pushed the front door open, glancing behind his back to make sure no one was watching and slipped inside. He was so quiet that even the trees didn't notice any disturbance around them.

His gun was poised and ready, his ears perked for any sounds that might alert him to anything. He was sure that Sam was here. He could…_sense_ something different here. And now he was turning into a Missouri, John inwardly joked though realizing now wasn't the time.

It was then that John realized how big this house really was. Rooms led to different rooms, seemingly everlasting. Then he noticed something strange- something past the blood smeared floorboards. Decorating the walls all around him in every room were small indentations the size of your fingerprint. Anyone would easily mistake them for bullet holes but John knew that wasn't it. It seemed like they were…arranged on the wall, like they had a meaning or purpose.

And that was when he heard it. He whipped his head around and listened carefully. It sounded like…chains? Striding closer to the sound, his fingers tightened on the gun as he readied himself.

**000**

Dean had a plan. Lead them out in the middle of the woods, knock them out and help his dad. Find Sam, get the hell out and then drive like a madman away from this town, never looking back. It seemed like an excellent plan at the beginning, especially when it was initially his Dad's idea, but it didn't look so bright anymore. Somewhere along the line, the two bastards standing before him had worked out his plan and were holding guns to his head.

He had been busted big time.

"Please, I was just fooling around!" He tried to act like a normal, stupid kid- the type who goes around and plays pranks on everyone.

"Fooling around? Somehow I doubt that, boy. You have an uncanny history to your life, and you think we're that stupid to believe your story?" He spat. Dean's eyebrows knitted together as the cops took on such a cold tone. What ever happened to Mr. Nice-Cops when he first met them? He wondered.

"Now just what exactly are you planning to do? We can have you arrested for this you ignorant teen!"

Something in Dean snapped, and he didn't even think before he blurted it out. "You two aren't even cops!" Maybe it was their tone of voices, or the words they chose to use but Dean had never seen two cops so cold, even in such situations.

Instantly, the first cop snapped straight, eyes narrowing. They didn't even decide to try and play safe. "Just how do you know that?"

Dean was amazed that he had hit upon the truth. He decided to play along. If these guys weren't cops, who were they? Why were they guarding the house in the first place? This wasn't going according to their plan at all.

Dean shrugged, glancing to the side. "You two don't act like cops." It was partially true.

"You know too much!" He hissed. "You must be killed!"

"See? That's what I mean. Kinda obvious." Dean decided to keep it cool but dropped the act as he saw the second cop's finger move slightly. Without thinking, he threw himself to the right and dived behind a tree as shots rang out. Whipping out his own gun, he twisted and fired. Rounds pumped into the air and all of a sudden, everything was silent.

"Shit!" Dean cussed under his breath. Where were they? It was two against one! There are trees everywhere, this wasn't even fair game! Something rustled behind him as he abruptly spun around, face to face with the first cop and before he could level his gun, white hot pain blossomed at the back of his skull as his eyes slid shut and collapsed mercilessly between the two cops.

"I knew he'd be easy."

"What about the other?"

"He's falling right into a trap as we speak." He smirked.

"Three birds with one stone, eh?"

"Yeah, more like three bastards with one gun."

"Same thing, you ass."

"Mine's more poetic."

They snickered as they dragged Dean's unconscious form back to the house.

"Dylan would be proud."

"Very."

**000**

He was sure someone was in the room behind the wall John was pressed up against. His footsteps were undetectable as he turned the corner and saw a figure by the fire place. His back was towards him so that gave him a chance to scan the area. His eyes instantly fell on an unconscious teenager and knew immediately that he was looking at Sam.

Anger boiled in him as he aimed his gun at his son's captor. Before he could speak, he was greeted with a disturbingly calm voice.

"John Winchester. I knew you'd turn up." Dylan turned around and smiled, Dean's machete in his hands as he ran it across his burnt hand.

John's eyes widened as he looked at the person before him.

"Yes, what a surprise isn't it?" He continued. "I'm offended that Dean isn't here."

"Oh Dean will be here you bastard. And he won't play nice." John threatened.

"How do you know when you don't know where he is?" Dylan asked innocently.

"How can you have the guts to question me about that when I _do_ know where he is?"

"But you don't."

"Quit the bullshit, Dylan. I could kill you right here right now."

"I know, but you won't will you?" A sly smile spread across his face.

"Besides, there are cops outside. This place is guarded day and night! If I don't kill you, they'll drag your sorry ass to prison!"

Chuckling and ignoring what John said, he continued. "I have two things that you don't."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"You were wrong John. You don't know where Dean is."

The statement caught John off guard. "What?" If only he could end this with a simple shot.

"You sent Dean to his death, John. Those cops outside this place? They're my own men. They're not cops. They just get their daily pay to play dress-ups."

"You're bluffing!" John exclaimed. He suddenly remembered all the bullshit he was fed about the wailing bitch. How could he have believed it?

"Oh am I?" Dylan walked over to Sam, the machete clenched in his hands.

"Stay away from him!" John bellowed. "I'm warning you!"

"Shoot me and your sons die, John. You'll be left with nothing."

The sharp blade laid against Sam's cheek as Dylan ran it down, a line of red bursting through his skin.

"Drop your guns and kick them over to me."

John's jaw tightened as he bent down slowly, kicking his .45 over to Dylan.

"I said gun_s_, John."

Sighing, he retrieved two more .45s behind his waistband and kicked them over as well.

"You came well prepared. I'm impressed that you think you need to finish me with three pistols."

Another river of red slid down Sam's cheek as John fought to stop himself from decapitating that monster before his youngest son.

"Ah, you came at just the right time." John didn't know what he was on about as he continued to speak. "Remember I told you I wasn't bluffing? Well, they're here to prove it to you."

John reacted quickly as he dropped himself to the ground, an arm which was aimed for his throat whizzed past above his head. Snaking a leg out, he tripped both men as they landed hard on the floor. An elbow came down on John's nose while he was getting up as he cried out, alarmed. Stumbling backwards, he tried his hardest not to fall down knowing that was the greatest advantage he could give his opponent.

The two cops jabbed at him with their fists and kicks flew at him. They moved so fast that all you could see was a blur. Many hits found their target as another elbow to his temple distorted his vision as he crumbled.

"Separate him from Dean. Do not put them in the same rooms!" Dylan ordered as they dragged John elsewhere.

Little did he know that Sam had been awake for a short while and he knew that Dean and John were here. Knowing that piece of information gave him a renewed strength that made his heart flutter with hope. Dylan walked back to the fire-place; the flickering shadows on his face gave him a dominating look.

He returned to Sam with something in his hands that Sam couldn't see quite clearly.

"Glad to see you awake, Sammy."

"Don't call me that." He growled.

Swinging the fire poker he had in his hands up right, he grinned as he saw Sam's pupils enlarge.

"What's wrong? Scared? I thought you don't scare easily. After all, you broke into my own house and rescued me."

A small plan was forming into his head as Dylan spoke. He was hardly paying attention to what he was saying, but he realized his mistake. The poker was plunged into the soft flesh of the edge of his belly as Sam cried out, gasping. His Adam's apple painfully bobbed against his tortured throat.

"I expect you to speak!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, he remembered that Dean told him once that if you forget the pain and think of something else, it would go away. Hearing Dean's voice echoing in his mind made his breathing even as he opened them and looked Dylan in the eye.

The smell of burnt flesh filled Sam's nostrils though it didn't distract him. He noticed Dylan narrowing his eyes down upon him as he held his glare, unwilling to falter. Raising a hand, he backhanded Sam as blood spurted from his split lip. Swinging his head back, he scowled at Dylan.

"What's the matter? Are _you_ scared? Why do you feel the need to chain me up and beat me, when you can hunt me down like an animal? You're _afraid_ of what I'm capable of, aren't you?" Sam asked, his voice deadly.

Feeling his cheeks burn as Dylan backhanded him again, his skull pounded against the wall behind him.

"Shut up! Shut up you bastard!"

Sam groaned uncomfortably and simply stared as Dylan picked up his poker again. To hell with it, his plan was not working. Maybe if he died, Dylan would free Dean and John. Fat chance.

"Dylan." A voice came. "We need you to come and see something for yourself. He's… being rather…" The cop hesitated. "Brutal." He mouthed silently.

Dylan growled and threw the poker on the floor as he stalked away following the cop.

"Better make this quick." He grumbled disapprovingly. Apologies could be heard as Sam wasted no time. If he worked fast, he might succeed.

Shuffling over to the abandoned poker on the floor, he pressed the chains against it as they turned an orangey red. Biting his bottom lip as the heat radiated and the metal burned his wrists, he kept them there and glanced at the doorway.

"C'mon, c'mon!" Thinking that his wrists were going to crack off his arms as the hot metal branded his skin, the chains broke as he worked on his ankles. Ringlets of red and purple covered his wrists and ankles as the chains fell loose, burns decorated them in the same fashion.

Sprinting over to the three pistols his father had been forced to discard; he tucked one behind his waistband and held them both in his hands. His dislocated shoulder screamed in protest as the new weight added strain to it, but Sam pushed it out of his mind, Dean's voice echoing in his head.

_Remember Sammy, forget about the pain and the pain will forget about you. _

An unidentifiable feeling erupted in his chest while he thought about Dean as he felt his legs run faster than ever and it gave himself a feeling of hope that he had forgotten.

He had to find his father or brother first, he decided. But where? Hearing voices, he identified them as Dylan and some other person that his father had defined 'cop'. Edging nearer, he could make out the words.

"When I finish with him, you can finish these two."

"The brother's just right next door. It may be this one we should be worrying about."

"Don't let your guard down. They're all equally skilled."

"Remind me why you're doing this again? I thought that boy was your friend. He seems like a nice kid."

"Are you contradicting me? I have to kill them! They insulted my mother! Said some damn vampire killed her! What kind of bullshit is that?"

Sam had heard enough as he sprinted next door. His bruised ribs and injuries protested but he pushed them to the limit. Rounding the corner, he saw Dean fidgeting with his bonds.

"Dean! God, Dean!" Sam breathed a sigh of relief as tears were evident in his voice. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Shit Sam! Look what they did to you!"

Dean was tied up in a chair, the same fashion as Sam was originally though the bonds around his brother's were rope. Quickly bending down to untie them, he scanned Dean's face for any injuries.

"Dad's next door. Dylan's gonna realize I escaped very soon- he'll go crazy."

"Dylan? No-family-Dylan? Our Dylan?" Sam paused as he forgot his brother didn't know about that.

"Our Dylan? Don't put it like that, I feel like I'm gonna throw up if you say that one more time."

"He's gonna pay! And those two cops." Dean snarled.

Sam handed a gun over to Dean as he muttered a thanks, springing to their feet. When Dean was hunting for the person who had hurt his baby brother, he was deadly. That man could easily be classified as a goner.

They covered each others backs, and while they were both scanning the rooms for Dylan or the cops the two of them seem to cry out at the same time, shouting to alert each other.

"Dean! Behind you!"

"Sam! Behind you!"

Years of hard training kicked in as both Winchesters knew what to do immediately. Dean dropped down and hit the floor, arms in front of him as he seized his gun in an iron grip, aiming for a headshot. Sam twisted around and fingered the trigger on his gun, eyeing down the man before him. Two shots rang out simultaneously as the cop behind Sam fell backward, a hole in between his eyes and the second cop behind Dean was hit dead centre on the chest.

"Nice shot." Sam said as he looked at the headshot.

Panting, Dean sprung up and patted Sam lightly behind his back, alert of any unknown injuries Sam might have sustained. "That was some kick-ass team work." He breathed.

"I bet Dylan heard that. Let's go find Dad before it's too late. I know which room he's in."

Footsteps pounded as they both sprinted into the room which held John, tied up in the same fashion as Dean was. He appeared unconscious, several bruises shone clearly on his face and that made Dean's blood boil even more.

Shaking John, he tried to rouse him out of unconsciousness as Sam worked on the bonds. He instantly snapped awake while Dean silenced him and Sam handed him a gun.

The hair on the back of Sam stood up as he twisted his body around, face to face with his captor that was once his best friend at school. Taking several strides back, he leveled his gun, sure that Dean and John had done the same thing behind him.

"You shoot me, Sam dies." Dylan stated, calmly making his point as he jerked his Magnum over to Sam.

"You're bluffing." Dean countered. "You've lost, Dylan. The numbers are highly unequal."

Dean deliberately cleared his throat giving everyone the signal, and even though Sam was in front of him he knew what to do. It was the three second timer that was the most important now.

"Unequal or not, that's not important."

_One…_

"Three guns are aimed at you, Dylan!" John shouted.

_Two…_

"And my gun is aimed at Sammy."

_Three!_

Sam sidestepped and threw himself to the right, four shots ringing out one after another as two people crumbled to the ground.

"No!" Dean cried, stricken as he saw Dylan mirror Sam's movement as John's bullet flew straight past him, missing him completely and he was pretty sure his bullet had only merely nicked Dylan on the arm! He still had to be taken down!

It was supposed to be perfectly timed! Nothing bad was supposed to happen! John was supposed to shoot Dylan and at the same time, Sam was supposed to throw himself away from safety!

But that didn't explain why Dylan was dead on the floor…unless…His eyes averted to Sam and his question was confirmed. Dylan had jerked to the right when John and Dean had fired, and when Dylan pulled the trigger his bullet embedded it into Sam's right thigh. When Sam was going down, he mustered up all his strength, aimed, and shot hoping that whoever was above the skies would guide his bullet to the target.

Sam blacked out before he even hit the floor, unaware of anything.

Dean rushed to Sam, raising his head and placing it on his knee as John cautiously tiptoed around Dylan. There, in his neck was a tiny hole. A sound escaped him, a laugh and a sob at the same time. Somehow, even in the world of pain his youngest son had managed to be the one who had brought Dylan down. His captor, torturer and once best friend.

"Dad!" Came Dean's panicky voice. "He's losing too much blood!"

"Shit! We have to take him to hospital!"

"Hospital?! They'll be too many cops involved! Too many questions!"

"It doesn't matter." He grounded out. "This is Sammy. He comes first, and we'll tell those nosey bastards the truth."

John took hold of Sam's legs, careful of his bullet would as Dean went for the upper part of his body. Sam gasped and groaned but did not rouse when Dean's hands so much as flitter over his dislocated shoulder. Biting his bottom lip, he placed a hand under Sam as they both lifted Sam up.

"We have to move quickly. The Impala is just on the other side of the woods. Sam will be cold and with his wounds, who knows what might happen. We are not to stop until we've reached the car."

"Yes, sir."

Their feet were quick against the floor as they carried Sam out of the house. As soon as they were outside, a breeze danced past them and even Dean shivered. "Hurry Dad!" He cried. Branches scratched at Dean's cheeks but he didn't care. His one mission was to get his brother to safety. Trails of blood appeared on both Winchester's faces as they picked up their pace even more, the chilling breeze dancing past their flesh.

The moonlight illuminated the path as pale blue beams shone down past the blanket of trees above them. Panting heavily, Dean felt his arms begin to burn as the Impala came into view. Sweat rolled down his face like condensation on a chilled glass of soft drink. The full moon came into view as the door opened and Sam was placed onto the backseat. With John behind the wheel, they both rushed in the Impala and sped towards the closest hospital.

"Sammy, it's okay, you're safe now. You're safe now. Just hold on. Please hold on for me."

John pressed down the gas pedal as his eyes bore down the road in front of him. He felt the world's weight on his shoulders since it all depended on how fast he could get Sam to hospital. Grinding his teeth together, he glanced at his rearview mirror and he inwardly thought that Dylan deserved a worse death.

**TBC.**

**Please let me know how you liked it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for the reading and reviewing. Hope everyone likes this chapter.**

"Sir, you've asked for the millionth time already and the answer's going to be the same. He's not out of surgery yet."

John swallowed a lump in his throat as he heard the same thing over and over again. Seizing another nurse by her arm, Dean questioned. "Excuse me? Can you tell me how Sam Smithers is doing?"

"Uh, sorry, I don't have him as one of my patients. Perhaps try someone else."

"Dean! Quit asking, you'll just get kicked out of here."

Slumping down next to his father, Dean placed his head on his palms and rubbed at his eyes. "This is driving me damn near insane! I can't believe he has to go through surgery for his shoulder!" He growled.

John took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. "All we have to do is wait."

"I can't fucking wait!"

"Well you'll have to!"

"This is insa-"

"Dean! Get a hold of yourself!" John ordered. "What good will you do to Sam if you're this agitated?"

Dean clamped his mouth shut and slid further down his seat. His eyes glanced from seat to seat as he noticed bitterly the empty space around him. It was nearing 1am and everyone should be home sleeping peacefully. With their baby brothers beside them.

The suspense was literally tearing him in half. He found the oxygen thick and hard to pull in when suddenly a nurse walked over to him. She was quite young, in her early twenties and had long extended eyelashes that gave her brown eyes a sharp stunning look.

"Family of Sam Smithers?"

"Yes, oh God yes." Dean choked out with relief.

"You two shouldn't have to worry so much. He's stable and everything is alright except for a few of his wounds he suffered including the swollen throat."

John placed a firm hand on Dean's chest to prevent him from doing anything stupid. He eyed the nametag that was placed on the nurse's uniform.

"Amanda?"

"Yes, that's me." She confirmed.

"Could you please lead us to where Sam Smithers is?"

"Of course. While we're on our way I'll tell you everything."

They both nodded and followed her silently.

"Sam's airway is slightly restricted, the flesh on his throat still raw and soft to touch. He may not be able to talk for some time, but it will heal. Swallowing, eating or drinking anything will be painfully difficult for him so I strongly discourage that. Now moving on, the bullet that entered in his thigh didn't hit anything so it went straight through to the other side. He would need maybe a crutch or one of those walking sticks…"

At that, Dean couldn't help but snicker at the thought.

"He has a quite severe burn to his abdomen, which luckily didn't get infected. It was a clean process though he may be hurting for a while. He's on quite a lot of pain killers at the moment so that might help. But he's on his own for the rest of the trip."

"No, he's got us." John said reassuringly.

Amanda blinked, softened and smiled at them while she continued. "Now his shoulder is a whole different story. The surgeon was deciding whether we should've amputated it or not, but luckily, we didn't have to. We set it back and put his arm in a sling. I strongly recommend him not moving it around though. His wrists were quite a bitc-" Noticing her slip of the tongue she blushed and coughed. Dean picked it up immediately and smirked.

"New here?"

"Yes, excuse me. They were quite a problem. The metal cuffs, I'm guessing, cut quite deeply into his skin and if that wasn't enough, the metal chains around his wrists that he burned had damaged them. He should never have done that, since he probably knows that metal is not a good conductor of heat. Other than that, there are numerous bruises which, in time, will heal."

"And lastly, of course, the minor cuts to his cheeks. None of them needs stitches and again, all you need is patience before they heal."

"Thank you."

Amanda nodded and walked away leaving Dean and John outside Sam's room. John placed a hand on the handle and was about to go in when Dean spoke.

"Sammy risked his life to save us."

"You mean the metal chains? I was thinking that, too."

"I saw a fire poker near by. I'm guessing he used that to get out of the chains he was in and then came to save us."

"He truly has a big heart."

"Just like Mom?"

John nodded and Dean swore he saw his eyes shining. It was so fast that he wasn't even sure, thinking maybe it was the glaring lights above them as they both entered the room. A sharp intake of breath could be heard as wide eyes stared at the unconscious form on the bed before them.

Sam was white- as pale as a ghost as he lay flat on his back. Locks of hair waved down his forehead while he lay peacefully still.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered as his hand brushed over his brother's. John stood on the other side and brushed his hair out of his eyes, the soft strands weaving through his fingers as John closed his eyes and remembered how his son's hair felt exactly like Mary's. Emotions threatened to rise and drown him like a monstrous tidal wave. Dean fought to keep the tears as bay as they shined brightly in his eyes, the events rushing up to meet him.

Each Winchester fought their own battles as nothing could be heard except the heart monitor beeping.

**000**

Dean must have fallen asleep but he was instantly snapped awake as doctors and nurses rushed in. And that was when he heard it. Why couldn't it shut the fuck up? Shocked eyes looked at the heart monitor before him as the straight line burned itself on the back of his mind.

"No…no…" He cried. "No!!"

Where was John? Where was his father? "NO!" Dean fought weakly at the nurses' hold as hands gripped his arms and lead him outside. Legs scraped the hospital floor as he willed to join his brother.

"No! Sammy!" His voice echoed through the halls, broken and desperate as John came running around the corner, coffee spilling on the floor as his eyes grew wide.

"Dean? Sam?" His voice shouted above the noise.

Dean couldn't breathe. He felt his arteries snap individually, the noise echoing in his mind as he used the last of his strength to burst through the crowd of white circling his brother.

"Sam!!" Strong familiar arms enveloped him as the door closed in on his baby brother. The last he saw was Sam's shirt being ripped apart, paddles being charged as the doctor rubbed them together.

"Charging 350!..."

Tears splashed down his cheeks as he hiccupped and felt the world crashing down upon him and the sky had finally given up as it elevated down and crushed his spirit.

"Dean, Dean, calm down. They're doing the best they can, they're doing the best they can son. Sam will pull through."

Dean felt tears splash onto his forehead and trail down his temple, and that alone just made him want to cry even harder.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded as they echoed closer and closer to them. Dean dared to lift his gaze and look the doctor in the eye. He smiled and closed his eyes, nodding.

"It was a tough six minutes, but your son is the best fighter I've seen."

"You'd be surprised." Dean said.

"Thanks so much. Can we see him?" John asked.

"Of course."

"That was too close." Dean whispered.

"Well, he's here. All we have to do is guide him back to where he safely belongs."

"When will he wake up?"

"When he's ready."

"It's that simple?"

The question caught him off guard and John looked at his eldest. Really looked at him. Every other time, he had acted so much older than mere nineteen. Now, he was looking at him like he was four years old, jumping into his father's warm embracing arms asking whether Sam's old enough to play with them.

"Yes, son. It's that simple." He smiled and Dean felt his fears melt away by the very person he was raised by that drives the evil away at night.

It was very early in the morning, approximately 5am when Dean was aroused by a gurgling noise. His first glance was to the heart monitor, his breath quickening but he found that it was normal. It was something else… he eyed the patient on the bed and sprung to his feet.

"Sammy!" Pressing the emergency button as he watched Sam choke on the tube down his throat, he placed a hand on Sam's chest.

"Don't fight it! Please, Sam."

"It's there to help you, son." Two pairs of eyes looked down at him as Sam felt himself relaxing. Suddenly, a doctor hovered over him and as quick as lightning the tube had been pulled out.

"Dea-"

"Shh…don't talk. Your throat, remember?"

Gently fingering his throat, he winced as it was soft to touch and still slightly puffy.

"Do you remember what happened?" John asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes and rocked his hand side to side. _Sort of._

"Dylan, remember?"

Eyes widening in realization, he nodded. He turned his palm so it faced the ceiling and John knew what he was trying to say.

"We got him, don't worry. You're safe now."

Sam's wide eyes locked on John's and he knew what his youngest was trying to ask.

"Do you remember? He shot you, and you must have acted on instinct and shot him back. It was a perfect shot, Sammy. I'm proud of you."

Sam's look didn't waver as he flicked his gaze to Dean. They both smiled at him and nodded warmly and Sam knew he was safe. His shoulders visibly slumped as he closed his eyes.

"Oh and Sammy?"

Cracking his eyes open, he found Dean smirking down on him. Rolling his eyes, he dared to look at his brother. _What?_

"Doc says you have to use a walking stick."

Sam made a grunting sound and flipped Dean the bird, closing his eyes once again. Laughter surrounded him as he, too smiled to himself. Dean would never let him live if he did use a walking stick.

God, he missed his family.

"Go to sleep, Sam." John suggested.

"We'll be here when you wake up."

Managing a small nod, he surrendered to the pull of exhaustion as his breathing evened out and the creases of worry smoothened.

_Pounding footsteps could be heard as Sam's breathing became harder and harder. Twisting his head in all directions, anxious to find a familiar room, he began to panic. Room after room he ran, it all looked the same. _

"_Dean? Dad?"_

_Oh God, he thought. Am I back to where I started? Alone and captured in this God forsaken house? Could it be a dream that Dylan died? _

_He heard a snake hiss to his left, another hiss to his right but there were to snakes! Footsteps echoed around him as voices boomed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he was wondering what was happening to him. _

"_Dean?" He tried again. "Dad!?"_

_He let out a shaky breath and continued in the maze that may well be the end of his life. Corners of the walls grew blurry at times and the concrete floor felt like it was made of liquid, waves rippling gently beneath him. _

_The world spun around him and Dylan came into view, mocking laughter filled his ears as Sam shouted at him to go away. _

"_Sammy!" Dylan sang in a sing-song tone as Sam huddled in the corner and placed his head between his arms. _

"_Sammy!" Dylan said again. _

"_You're dead! You're dead! Leave me alone!" Sam shouted, his throat becoming dry._

"_After I'm done with you, I'll tear your brother apart slowly and carefully, and then I'll finish your father off!" He threatened._

"_Don't you dare-"_

_But it was too late. Sam heard his neck snap as his vision spun sideways and he was out before his temple connected with the hard floor._

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as he saw Sam thrashing on the bed. His heartbeat had sped up, his eyes moving rapidly under closed eyelids and his fists were clenched tightly.

"Sammy!"

Sam mumbled something, still caught in the deadliest knot of his nightmare. John placed both hands on his son's shoulders and whispered words to him but nothing seemed to work.

"Don't! Don't…" Sam's strangled cry came.

"Sam, snap out of it." Dean said gently. "Please, Sammy?"

Instantly, Sam snapped awake and leapt into open arms, sweat trickled down his forehead as he quietly sobbed; tears trailing down his worn face. "Don't leave." He whispered, and Dean managed a nod.

"You're safe, son. Safe." John reassured as Sam's breathing calmed down and he hiccupped. Dean thanked that he was highly dosed on painkillers seeing as this might've proved agonizing for Sam's throat.

**000**

They both watched while Sam slept soundly on the hospital bed when a soft tap on the door made them both spin their heads in that direction. Amanda smiled gently at them and Dean returned the gesture, though his eyes were on the man next to Amanda.

"Let's go outside." She spoke softly.

"What about Sam?" Dean asked.

"It'll only take a few minutes. I think you might like to hear this."

Hesitating, they both followed Amanda and the stranger next to her until they reached the corridor.

"Something wrong?" John asked.

"Well, yes, actually." At the sight of their faces, she added, "It's not about Sam. In fact, it's about that house we found you three in. It's no ordinary house, and if you had paid attention to any of the walls you'd know why."

John remembered that he had seen minute silver craters decorating every wall in there, and he wondered why he didn't remember it sooner. "I saw them, but didn't really look at them. They're certainly not bullet holes, right?"

"Correct Mr. Smithers. Do you have any idea what they are?"

Both Dean and John racked their brains but couldn't come up with an answer. If they weren't bullet holes then…?

"That is exactly what we're here to find out." She continued, as if reading their thoughts. "This is Professor Derek Kingsford and he's been studying forms of communication for years."

John and Derek shook hands while Dean had trouble coping.

"F-forms of communication?" Dean stuttered. "What has this got to do with everything?"

"That's exactly what I'm here to find out." Derek spoke. "I've been studying communication for over 20 years, and I think I know what's going on. If one or both of you may follow me back to that house, we may be able to see where Dylan went wrong in his life."

"Dad, you can go. I'll stay here so Sam won't be alone."

"You sure son? You don't wanna see this?"

"Just tell me everything once you get back. I can't imagine Sam waking up with no one by his side."

John took a deep breath and nodded.

"Stay safe, Dad."

They wasted no time as Professor Kingsford drove swiftly albeit carefully towards the house where Sam was taken. Ducking under the tape, they both entered the house for the second time in John's life and he couldn't suppress a shudder through him.

He looked closely at the silver circles on the wall while Derek walked up to them; inspecting them. A few minutes later, he nodded to himself.

"I thought so." He murmured loudly enough for John to hear.

"What is it?"

"It's Braille. Everything written on these walls is exactly like a spoken diary of Dylan's life."

"Braille? That's for blind people! Dylan sure had sight clear enough to see his victim walking down the street!"

"That's what I thought, but look at all this. This wall here tells us how it all started."

John looked at all the strange circles and he felt like he had entered a whole new world, speaking a language he had never learnt. When the three of them hit the road, the boys are definitely learning Braille, he thought.

"Year 2000." Derek stated as he read off the wall expertly. "My teacher says I'm a big boy now. And that I am. I did the unexpected today and I thought I might try this new form of writing out. No one shall find these; it's like my own personal dungeon of thoughts that only I can access.

Today, my father was supposed to come to school and help out on our excursion, but he was too drunk to care. Too drunk to even care about his own son! What kind of father is he? I arrived at school, crying like a coward and my teacher asked if anyone could substitute for him. My mother perhaps? I was so distressed I blurted out that my mother was killed by a man with shark teeth, and my teacher yelled at me. She asked me how I could say such a thing about her, and I was sent home.

Why doesn't anybody believe me? My mother was _not_ killed by an animal! Why did God bless me with the gift of sight if nobody believes anything I say? I decided it was time to end this. Out of anger, I locked myself in my bedroom and dug my fingers in my eyes. I scratched at them fiercely; my fingernails scraping at the cornea and suddenly, I didn't know what I had done. I was engulfed in darkness as I put my hands before my face and screamed at myself to open my eyes. I felt a thick substance all over my hands; running down my face and I knew that I had gone too far.

Hours later, my father knew something was wrong and broke the door. I was in someone's arms and felt something moving beneath me. I've never been so scared in my life while they carried me to hospital. I felt my father's breath against my neck, muffled voices from left and right and I briefly wondered if I would be blind for the rest of my life."

John stood, dumbfounded. "That's this entire wall?" He asked when he had found his voice.

Derek nodded. "Just this wall tells us so much. Imagine what this whole house will reveal!"

"Does it continue?"

"Of course." Derek said in a matter of fact tone. "This whole room tells of one event, and possibly the next continues from it and so on."

"So, what happened after?" John asked. He could not tear his eyes off the walls, nor keep his mind off the events Sam's one best friend at school had endured.

"I was in hospital for six days, they told me." He continued. "They prepared me for surgery and told me I was lucky. Lucky? Were they out of their minds? Two days after surgery, I woke up. I opened my eyes. And screamed. I was glad to have my sight back, but something was wrong. Something was different. The light on the ceiling- a small circle of white- burned my eyes and hurt my head. It felt like the small bulb was radiating fiery electricity that threatened to make the building explode.

My father was beside my and squeezed my hand over and over, calling my name. I managed to tell him to turn off the lights and he finally got the message. As soon as the lights were shut, I snapped my eyes open. I could see! But suddenly I yelped. Across the room, about fifteen feet from where I lay, a cockroach scuttled across the floor and disappeared into a vent. I told my father, but he wouldn't believe me. Said I was seeing things. His exact words to me were, "It's pitch black, son. Even I can't see your face from here; how could you possibly see a cockroach?"

I got my sight back. I was given a second chance. Wasn't I supposed to be happy? Jump for joy like a normal 9 year old boy who was given some chocolate? Because this was definitely more than some chocolate.

The next morning, a nurse came in to tell me what had happened. I was lucky enough to receive cornea transplants from someone who died very recently on the road, killed by a vicious animal. I asked the doctor if being sensitive to bright lights were a side affect and all he did was cock his head and say that he'd never heard of it, but it was possible.

I was released from hospital soon after and we both headed home. It was a cold night and I was so glad to be back and I thought of how lucky I was when my father was outside the house trying to find the right key. Very few stars shone dimly above us and I raised an eyebrow at him. Why couldn't he find the right key? It wasn't dark or anything…

I heard him mutter, "C'mon, which one is it?" followed by a frustrated jingle of a bunch of keys. I turned to look and saw him holding the key to the garage and I wanted to help, so I told him "It's not that, Dad. That's the keys to the garage. Move five to your right and that's the key to the door"

He thought I was insane but tried it out anyway. The cold was really getting to us. I heard the click of the lock and the door swung open. "H-How did you know?" He asked me. I didn't understand what he was saying until he said it the second time. "It was clear as crystal." I replied and told him how easy it was to detect the key. He looked at me like I was crazy and sauntered over to the fridge.

I didn't know what was going on, and went to the bathroom to wash my face. I looked at my reflection and gasped at what I saw. My eyes were bloodshot, a tinge of red blossoming at the sides like I had been crying very hard for hours. Unfamiliar eyes stared back at me like I was an unwanted stranger and I shuddered."

John's mind reeled. It's not possible. He thought. Dylan couldn't possibly have…

"That's the day this whole room contains. Would you like a break before we move on?"

John nodded. "Yes, yes please." He quickly strolled outside out of the house and speed dialed Dean's number.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"I need you to do some research, now. Look up everyone who died in year 2000, killed by a vicious animal and dumped by the roadside."

"What has-"

"Just do it." John growled.

There was silence over the phone as John scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Sorry. I think I might be on to something about Dylan's past. I found out something, he lost his sight but regained it and became sensitive to light and can see in the dark as well as daylight."

"What? But that's…"

"I know. A vision of a vampire."

"That's impossible."

"Anything is possible. Call me when you find anyone that suits the descriptions of death."

"Yes sir."

"Look after Sammy."

"Always."

The phone clicked shut as John took a deep breath and walked back into the house where Derek was waiting for him.

"Shall we continue?" He asked.

**000**

Dean scanned through the web pages on Sam's laptop when he suddenly stopped and frowned. Clicking his mouse, he went a couple of pages back and there it was. A very old photograph of a young boy with a smile that can charm any girl.

_Photograph of Steve Lynt, born in 1991. _It said. _He died in a fatal car accident, and his exact last words to his mother was "Please don't let my body go to waste. Donate everything I've got…" _

Dean clicked an italic red hyperlink that blinked "biography" underneath it as he shuffled in his seat and began reading.

_Steve Anderson Lynt was born in 1991 and always loved to travel. Ever since five years old, his family was always at the police station, panicked and worried about Steve. They said that some nights, he disappears without a trace. Some nights, he's at home acting perfectly normal. His parents have also taken him to the doctor saying something about sensitivity to light. He wasn't diagnosed with anything, and they suspected it might just pass. _

_One day, his family decided that they should go on a vacation but three hours into the trip, their car collided with a tree since the rain and made the roads as slippery as wet rubber. He was just simply nine years old, and that was when it had all ended for him. His family was crushed and broken as Mandy, (Steve's mother) held her dying son in her arms. There, between the moment of life and death, Steve had whispered his last words to her._

_Mandy was devastated after the death of her son. She kissed him goodbye and agreed to let him donate his body parts to anyone that would need them. His most famous donor, was a cornea transplant in year 2000 to a boy just a few months younger than him. The doctors were amazed how easily they fit into their patient. It was truly a miracle. Lynt had died in an unbelievable twist of fate in his life, but had saved many others. He was definitely blessed._

"Sonofabitch." Dean hissed.

Dylan had definitely received cornea transplants from a vampire who died 7 years ago. He groaned and put his hands behind his head, gazing at Sam's sleeping form.

"Don't worry Sammy. Everything's alright now," He repeated, though he was sure that he was saying that to make hmself feel better. The silent room was really getting to him. He felt his eyelids getting heavy while he shuffled in his seat and eventually, his breathing evened out.

**Please tell me if you liked it! One more chapter to go!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I appreciate the feedback! Now on with the final chapter!**

"This is about the life at school in year 2002." Derek's voice boomed out of John's head as he shook his head no. Following Derek to another room, he couldn't help but think what Dean was up to.

"What about his feelings towards his father? It's filled with hate and pain."

Again, John shook his head no. He felt like he was on a boring museum tour as he walked to another room. Surely there had to be something here that interested him.

"His dreams?"

John bit his lip and hesitated, then shook his head.

Derek hummed. "Oh, what about connections? I think you might find this one interesting. It's short, too."

"Connections?" John asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"About this house."

John nodded.

"Today, I've finally found this house! This is it, the house my mother was murdered in and the house where everything normal came to an end. I spend most of my days after school here and it has become my second home. I decided that I needed a faster and safer way to travel to and from my house and this house, so I came up with a brilliant idea. I drew up a map of where to dig, the exact directions as I took a few floorboards away one day, and found what I had been looking for.

Underneath the foundation of the house was dirt. With my bare hands, I managed to dig a small tunnel. Day by day, the tunnel grew not only in length but in height, too. After several months of hard work, I had successfully dug a tunnel that began at the basement of the house I now live in, and ended at the house my mother died in. I began shaping the tunnel into a beautiful arch shape in the following days and pretty soon, it was complete.

I killed my first person the next day and no matter how loud he screamed, no one heard. At times, I would need to bring him to the tunnel and beat him incase he called too loudly and some people passing by had heard. After my job was completed, I used the tunnel to go back to my house and no one suspected a thing.

One night, I was staying in the abandoned house, I knocked over a candle and the place quickly caught on fire. The beautiful pale blue walls were becoming black and brown planks of wood in mere seconds. Luckily enough, the fire hadn't spread so much because I managed to put it out. I looked around and everything smelt of smoke- everything looked black and burnt. But no matter, this was my mother's house and I have to believe that angels- especially the angel that is my mother- is watching over it."

John swallowed back bile.

"Seems like he's a bit of a madman."

"A madman would be an understatement." John said bitterly.

Sympathetic eyes scanned his face and John had to look away. There was too much anger and resentment in his eyes that he couldn't afford to show.

"Would you like to call your son and see how your youngest is going?" He kindly offered. He seemed to understand as he smiled warmly towards John.

"Uh yeah, thanks."

"We can continue later. There's quite a bit that you might be interested in. I saw a few fascinating walls when I walked in."

John smiled but it didn't reach his eyes before he walked away.

**000**

"I'm guessing you don't want to know about his girlfriend?" Derek suggested after John had returned.

John almost laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. He nearly forgotten that Dylan was still a young teenager learning to grow up and take on bigger roles. He scrunched his face up and shook his head.

"What about how he killed his father?" At that, John snapped his head up.

"Yes, yes please."

"About time you took interest on something." He teased.

John smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"I am going to kill my father tomorrow. I have it planned out exactly the way I want it to turn out. When he slips into his troubled and alcohol-filled sleep, I will tie him up first. I have scorpions in my basement that are jumping out of their skin to meet their victim. If my father tries to escape in any way, I will not hesitate in cutting off his legs with my blade.

He has caused me so much trouble; so much pain and suffering just seeing him live his life. I think it'd be better if I ended it before something happens to him. His eyes are dead and unseeing- I've always hoped that one day he will snap awake and look at his darling son with his two lively eyes and show him the affection a father should show. I have been missing that feeling for so long…too long.

But how, I ask myself, will I make it so the blame doesn't fall on me? I am a total genius. It wasn't until only a few years ago that I discovered my double jointed shoulders. I can easily pop them out of my socket without any pain. I will tie myself up and make it look like someone else did it. I know my dearest friend, Sam, will notice something gone wrong in the morning. He will find me all tied up and distressed. He's such an easy person to trick.

He will never betray me. He will never lose his trust on me. I wonder if I will enjoy killing him when I have the chance, after all, he did suspect me when Alex was killed. How did he know? He might not be as dumb as he looks. After my father's death, I will plan Sam's death. God has given me this life and now I will live it."

"That's all?" John asked, dumbfounded.

"That's all."

John opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by his shrill cell ring tone. Instantly, he flipped it open and pressed it against his ear.

"Dean?"

"Yes, Dad? I've got something. It seems that when Dylan was approved of his cornea transplants. They were from a nine year old boy named Steve Lynt and from the looks of it, he became a vampire at a very young age."

"That would explain…"

"Yeah. Dylan had the eyes of a vampire all along."

John became breathless. Dean noticed the silence.

"What's going on over there? Found anything interesting? –Besides this whole vampire thing, I mean."

"It's absolutely crazy, Dean. The walls are all written over in with Braille."

"Braille?"

"You heard me. I'll explain everything once I get back."

"Yeah, you might wanna do that pretty soon, actually."

John's heart beat skyrocketed. "What? Why? Is Sammy-"

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, Dad. He's completely fine, just awake and asking where you are."

"And what did you tell him?"

"The truth of course."

"I'll be there right now. This stupid house can wait."

"Yeah, and Dad?"

"What is it?"

"Next time you visit those Braille walls, mind if we join?"

"We?"

"Yeah, Sam wants to know what's been going on through that lunatic's head, too."

"We'll see."

The call was ended and Derek was about to speak when John quickly intercepted. "It's getting late. Mind if I go check on my son?"

"Absolutely no problem. I'll come here another time, and whatever important news I find I'll let you know straight away."

John tilted his head in thought. "Thanks."

**000**

It had been four days since Sam has woken up, and Amanda came in telling them that Sam's well enough to leave.

"So, walking stick, Sammy?" Dean had an evil glint to his eyes as he smiled.

"Bite me." He said softly. His throat still hurt quite a bit, but it had healed a lot. His body ached here and there sometimes, but he was ready to get out of this house of white.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

Sam walked with a limp but he was holding well on his own. Even though Dean would never admit it, he glanced to his right every now and again to see is he could help his brother. Sam was truly made with a heart of pure gold.

There was a faint bruise that swept across his throat, but it wasn't as bad as it looked. Sam was capable of talking but yelling across a football field was still out of his league.

They were back at their motel as they packed their duffels and threw them into the Impala.

"Hurry up, you two!" John shouted outside as Dean and Sam were talking inside.

**000**

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and immediately flipped it open. "Yes?"

"Mr. Smithers? I've completed everything over at the house. Seems like everything I told you were the most important things there were in that house."

"What's the rest filled of then?"

"To sum it up in one single word? Crap. It's just about his younger life. I think he stopped writing his entries after his father died."

"Alright, thanks Derek."

"No problem. I'm so glad I could help. Is your son okay?"

"He's fine, thanks."

John sighed in relief and shut his phone. He couldn't wait to put the roads of this town behind the wheels of his Impala.

**000**

"I can't wait to get out of this town." Dean grumbled as John shouted outside.

"Five more minutes boys!"

"Too many…unpleasant memories." Sam finished.

"Sam, you couldn't help what happened."

"I know. It doesn't feel right though. He seemed innocent…"

"But he wasn't. Look what he did to you. Look what he did to Alex and his _own_ father! He even damaged my machete!" Dean bit his lip as he looked at the blade he favored the most and kept under his bed.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam asked as he saw Dean put his machete in the motel drawer.

"I can't live with owning that, Sam. That blade drew your blood, and I'm never looking at it ever again."

"Dean! That's your favorite machete!"

"Was."

"Dean, you don't have to."

"Yeah? But I want to. It's different."

"Thanks." He whispered softly.

"Whoa, whoa, I don't know what you're going on about. I just want Dad to get me a better machete. If you think this is about you at all…"

Sam smiled and punched his brother on the arm.

"You're lucky you just got out of hospital. If this situation was anything different, you'd be on the floor pleading for me to get off you."

"Yeah, right. Just keep on dreaming Dean."

"I'm not dreaming. I'm in reality."

"Where demons and vampires and ghosts live. Yep, I'd say we're in reality, and that's the reason no one believes this crap."

Chuckling, Dean swung his duffel over his shoulder. "Which brings this to a definite conclusion. Demons I get. Humans? They're a bunch of…"

"Yeah, I'd rather you not finish that."

"You're a real bitch you know that?"

"Yeah, which is why you threw your machete away for me you jerk."

"You're the one who needs to keep on dreaming!"

"Boys! If you're not done I'm coming in there and dragging your asses out here!"

Thundering laughter filled the motel as Dean and Sam exited. "You drag my ass, I'll punch you to a pulp Dad."

John laughed. "Try as you may."

"It's two against one."

"No, no no Dean. You're by yourself here." Sam said as he sprinted to the passenger seat.

"You bitch!" Dean hollered.

"You're an ass Dean! You freakin' jerk!" Sam's voice came from inside the Impala.

Life was something that shouldn't be underestimated, overlooked or sneered down upon at. It was something that constantly changes around you, leaving your lone shadow to step up and join you where it rightly belongs. Those who fall behind are left to battle their own worlds of abandonment, fear and misery. With loved ones by your side, standing right beside your shoulder to make sure that the path you choose will always be the one in front of you; you will never fail to fall behind in the world of surprises.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" Dean asked, a small smirk creeping up.

Sure, every road has bumps and every bump has flaws. Every crater on the ground holds another ditch in it which might be filled one day. The road was never ending, many sharp turns and other paths that led to different directions with a shiny, perfect surface tempting you to surrender to the hardship of life and accept the easy way of living. The horizon seemed to stretch on forever as the golden crust of the sky fades to a darker shade, the heavens roar as rain belts down at the long stretch of concrete.

Funny how the perfect roads always stay sunny with white clouds and sparkling rainbows.

"Boys, if you don't cut this now and continue to think up of names while I drive to the next town, I'm stringing you both up." His lips curled as he disappeared behind the door of the driver's seat, the engine revving as they pulled out of the driveway.

You start to crumble, your legs buckle as you collapse and stare down the winding road before you. Your knees collide in slow motion at the gravel but suddenly stop as strong arms clutch at your shoulders desperately. They're the ones that matter the most, and together you will walk down the righteous path.

Sam looks at his father behind the wheel, his brother in the backseat and grins to himself that only he himself understands why he's grinning like an idiot. He places his head back and closes his eyes as five precious seconds of peace rushes through his body before his brother slaps his head and the banter starts all over again.

The golden frame of your masterpiece hangs lifelessly on the wall, thin strings barely holding it up. The artwork before you is dull and boring and you decide what to do. You watch as a small parrot flaps its wings and its feet land on the edge of it. The comparison between its beautiful colors and your bare artwork is shameful; embarrassing. Your artwork swings fragilely, and you decide that it's time to start. Your life is in your hands, and the picture you decide to paint is up to the life in your hands. Day by day, the parrot's beautiful colors become one with the painting as the thin strings hanging your work become thick leather straps that will hold forever.

**Fin.**

**I don't know why I decided to do a "Heroes" type ending how Mohinder kinda finishes it up with some blabber that I don't pay attention to, but I think it sorta fit with this. **

**Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this fic. A huge thanks to individuals: Devan, for such nice and supportive words and her lesson on cornea transplants. Jess, for her amusing sense of humor and her encouraging words of kindness. Louise, for telling me that I'm doing such a great job with this fic and the last few paragraphs is dedicated to you. Angel for being such a lovely friend and telling me there's nothing to worry about. And the amazing Jenilee who thought of this wonderful prompt in the first place. I hope you liked it, Jen! And last but not least, everyone who reviewed including my anon. reviewers. **

**Please tell me how I did, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to you tomorrow since my internet access is getting cut off for a month or so. Until then!**


End file.
